


Travelogue

by jbmae17



Series: Travels [1]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, Meet-Cute, Original Character(s), Slow Burn, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-16 10:56:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15435570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jbmae17/pseuds/jbmae17
Summary: Newly-famous writer Josie is making the rounds of the world's film festivals with her debut project. Also making these rounds is actor Tom Hiddleston. As they run into each other in various venues, an acquaintance turns to a working relationship to more.





	1. Santa Barbara, California

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Spadesjade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spadesjade/gifts).



> Originally this was posted up on Tumblr back in the day. Many thanks to Spadesjade for not letting me give up on it.

****

**Santa Barbara, California, USA**

  
****

**population- 90,893, 42 square miles, average January temperature 65˚F**

  
_

“The American Riviera”

_

 

At least on the east coast, the sun had the decency to hit the ocean's horizon in the morning when no one had to watch. Being blinded by the Pacific's mirror right at rush hour made me understand why people around here lived in sunglasses. My eyes were going to take on a permanent squint if I had to be here much longer.

 

It was just another overstimulation to suffer through. The sounds, the lights, the people, the rush- everything was the exact opposite of my quiet little subterranean corner of suburbia. Writing books had more of an anonymous fame, but I had to go and make a movie and ambition required effort. These competitive awards were an exercise in stress management. It was bad enough going through the gauntlet of personal assistants and press on the red carpet, even though none of them would recognize me. The assistant my agent insisted that I have was making her way around the maze as well. I had asked her to avoid everyone and let me go through uninterrupted to my seat, but the studio had told me to make an effort so she would scamper off to the line of cameras and microphones, ask around and report back, saying _ABC Sacramento_ would like fifteen seconds where they would invariably ask about the stars and what were they like? I'd answer, trying to vary it a little each time, and get back into the procession slowly, oh so slowly making its way to the doors.

 

It was tempting to stargaze, but I was here as a professional, dammit. In theory, I was their equal for this one night. My award, if I did get one, would look the same as one of theirs. It had taken me a long time to accept it, but I was good at what I did. I had to hold onto that scrap of self-esteem. Someone else had done my hair and my makeup so I looked a step above human just like them and while my dress didn't cost more than my car, I think I fit into it pretty well. The pictures that surfaced later might prove otherwise but for the moment I was happy with myself.

 

A hand touched my elbow and I turned to find out where Mandy would have me go next when I saw myself level with an expanse of tight white dress shirt. My eyes traveled up past the crisp bow tie, strong chin, slightly parted lips and into sparkling freshwater eyes.

 

Definitely not Mandy.

 

“I've startled you, I'm so sorry. I just saw you walking past and wanted to catch you before we were lost in the shuffle for the rest of the night.”

 

Hymns to his perfection formed in three-part harmony in the back of my mind, but what came forward to fall like a drunk off my tongue was “Me? Why?”

 

“I should start over, shouldn't I? I'm Tom...”

 

“I know that part. I'm not getting why you're here.”

 

A devilish grin appeared. “You see I have a film, just like you...”

 

“How much time do you think I have?” Oh no, that sounded bitchy and not at all funny like it had in my head. I was going to be memorable for all the wrong reasons.

 

All mirth drained from his face. “I apologize.”

 

His assistant appeared at his arm, trying to drag him toward one of the cameras. “Tom, they need you over here.”

 

“No, no, that was just my nerves,” I said, trying to salvage some dignity. “It came out wrong. Please, tell me what you have to say.”

 

A relieved smile blossomed on that lovely face. “I understand, not speaking my best either here. I just wanted to say very quickly that I am a big fan of yours. _A Marriage of True Minds_ was brilliant. I'm looking forward to seeing _The Exception_. I've read _The Second Samaritan_ and I wanted to ask you if anyone has the film rights yet. I would love a chance to direct it.”

 

Now this was too much to process. “You're a fan of mine, you know who I am, and you want to direct my next script?”

 

“Yes, very much so. I feel this connection to the story. I think the vision in my head, if I can get even close to recreating it, would be magnificent. I know it has to go through agents and lawyers and studios but I thought if I could speak to you, it might give me an advantage.”

 

“You charming bastard. I haven't sold the rights yet. If you want it, it's yours.”

 

His hands reached for mine. “You mean it?”

 

“We do have some other offers, but none as personal as this. I would love to hear about your vision.”

 

“Tom, really, now.”

 

I pulled a card out of my little beaded bag. “Call me, we'll talk.”

 

Tom took the card, kissed it and placed it in his breast pocket. “I will,” he said, walking backward. “Good luck!”

 

Mandy stared at me with suspicious eyes. “What was that about?” I don't think Mandy has that much faith in my talent.

 

“It was a business deal, that's all,” I answered. If she saw him too, then it couldn't have been a hallucination.

 

“He left an interview to run over here. He apologized like ten times before he did, but he still did.”

 

“That's insane.”

 

“So he wants to work with you?” At least someone did. I wondered how hard it would be to find another assistant.

 

“That's what he said. Who knows if he meant it.”

 

“Oh, I think he meant it. Want to hit the Fox affiliate for San Francisco?”

 

We didn't win. I hadn't expected to, but the hope for an upset is always there. Neither did Tom's film. At last the applause died down and it was time to leave.

 

“Better luck next time,” I said as he walked past.

 

He stopped in front of me. “Same to you. Say, are you headed to the after party?”

 

“It's not my style and I have to fly back east early tomorrow.” This was the furthest I'd been from home as an adult and it was thrilling and terrifying and lonely at the same time, a sleepaway camp for one.

 

“Me too. Any chance you're going to be at the Berlinale next month? I should know this, but I've forgotten.”

 

“Why should you know that?” The thought that most of my life these days was public information still made me a little uncomfortable. “Yes, I am.”

 

“I will call you this week, but that would be a good chance to see you again. Maybe we can meet up the day before or after? Whatever you can fit into your schedule.”

 

_Shed-yule_. A word that should not be sexy, but damn... “Sure, sounds good. We'll find a time.”

 

“So nice to meet you,” he said and kissed my cheek. The charming bastard kissed me. Somebody better have taken a photo. Maybe the life of an international traveler wouldn't be so bad after all.

 

*-*-*


	2. Berlin, Germany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, Tom asks for the chance to direct "The Exception"

_Berlin, Germany_

_population 3.3 million, 345 sq miles, established 1237_

My heart stopped every time I heard the phone ring, but my arrhythmia was for naught. Tom didn't call the next week, or any of the ones after. That was fine, I told myself. Back in the mundane routine of everyday life our brief encounter seemed more like a daydream anyway. It's not like I wasn't used to empty promises. I still had plenty to do, and other offers, yet I held off on those, just in case. Once I was in Berlin, chances are I would see him again. Maybe he had a good excuse, and if he didn't, if he walked by with no memory of me, I'd be no worse off than I had been before.  


The room was abuzz with the din of a thousand quiet conversations and the steady clink of glassware. Nicholas, the preternaturally gorgeous but uncomfortably young star of my film, had been telling me about something I was pretending to understand when he stopped suddenly and looked over my shoulder. I turned in my seat to see Tom bent on one knee in supplication, not a hair out of place, not one seam too long, but his face conveying complete mental dishevelment.  


“Darling Josie. I have no good excuse for not calling. Forgive me?”  


“Of course,” I answered. How could I say otherwise?  


“Hey Tom,” said Nicholas. “How you been?”  


“Miserable, Nick, completely miserable. I lost Josie's number and looking at you right now, I realize I could have asked you for it. I feel like a damnable fool.”  


“You wanted to call Josie?” Nicholas asked with a smirk. “Why is that?”  


“Business,” I said, with a look over that clearly indicated that he needed to shut the hell up.  


Tom handed me a folded piece of paper. “I wrote you a meandering apology. I thought of sending you an email off your blog, but then I wasn't sure if you'd be the one to actually see it or you wouldn't think it was me. I thought of sending you a tweet, but it seemed so impersonal and brief, so I thought I'd wait until I saw you again.”  


“You read my blog?” I knew he followed me on Twitter. That had kept me awake for two days- a caffeinated revelation.  


“I do,” he said with a grin. “Are you wearing your lucky bracelet?”  


I held out my arm automatically to show it off. He caught my wrist and turned it back and forth, long fingers teasing apart some of the tangled links. “It's lovely.”  


“Thank you,” I said, trying to ignore the burning of my flesh as he released me. Out of my bag I pulled another card. “I'm giving this to you one more time, but if I don't hear from you, it's going to Warner Brothers and they can pick a director.”  


“I'm sure they'd do a fine job with it, but I will call. I promise.” He paused. “Are you still in town tomorrow?”  


“Yes, I'm here for a few days, signings and meetings and touristy stuff.”  


“Are you free for lunch?”  


I pretended to think it over. I had nothing planned for tomorrow except for sleeping. I had kept my schedule empty on purpose, for him, but he didn't have to know that.  


“Yes, I'm pretty sure I am.”  


There was that smile again. It made me reflexively smile back.  


“Wonderful. I'll call you in the morning and we'll set it up.”  


“What was that all about?” asked my director, Arthur, as he approached and Tom left. “You've got half the women in the room glaring at you now.”  


“What is it always around here but business, that's all.”  


“You wouldn't be blushing if it was just business,” he replied as if he knew what caused my blood to stir these days.  


"I'm a woman, he's perfection poured into a tight suit. These things happen. I can still be professional.”  


“Tom wants to option _The Second Samaritan_ ,” added Nicholas.  


“Serious? To direct? Is he going to star as well?”  


“He never mentioned it. I don't know,” I answered. It would be a thrill to see Tom bring one of my characters to life, but that was also putting a double workload on him. It might be too much.  


“He's never directed before, has he? Do you really want to be his experiment right when you're starting out, too?”  


Well, yes.  


I liked Arthur well enough, as much as you could like your first boyfriend who humiliated you and dumped you at fourteen, but by thirty had become a musician and a director with connections right when you have the idea that you just have to write and film a musical. He was a good director, but sometimes a little too conventional and unwilling to improvise. I was more of a 'let's put on a show right here in the barn' kind of girl. It would be an adventure to collaborate with a novice, like Tom, who didn't have a pre-set style already and could see the possibilities with a fresh set of eyes. That sounded mature and reasonable. I could say that with a straight face and people would believe me, right?  


“We're going to meet and I'll hear what he has in mind. If I don't like it, he won't get it.”  


“Oh, I bet he gets it.”  


“Shut up, Nicholas.”  


Early the next morning my phone began to ring from an unfamiliar number. In the span of twenty seconds I forgot the pattern of decades of breathing. I was sure I was doing it all wrong now.  


“Hello, how may I help you?”  


“Darling, would you mind if we had lunch in my room? I've got a tighter schedule than I had thought and to be honest, I don't want paparazzi shots of us together. It would be The Crow disaster all over again if this deal fell apart.”  


“I understand,” I answered. Oh, I certainly understood. Men always had a good excuse for not being seen in public with me. The old wound I thought had scarred over throbbed a little as I heard his words. “Look, if it's too much trouble, you can always email me. I'm not going to back out just because we didn't share a sandwich.”  


He'd already called me darling twice in the last twenty-four hours. I'd survive.  


“No, no. You are my priority today. If I have to move everything else around, we are going to have a proper chat about this. Could you come to room five forty-three about one? Is that too late?”  


Any time that wasn't now was too late, but I did need to prepare myself. “One 'o clock is fine. See you then.”  


When Tom opened the door, right at one, my heart stopped again. If this deal went through, I was investing in a defibrillator. He was a vision in tight black jeans and a white v-neck fresh from Calvin Klein. His hair was pushed back in still-damp waves, straight from the shower. Goodness, there was probably still steam hanging in the bathroom from when he stepped out, starkers... Imagination, I'm giving you one warning. You are not going to mess this up for me.  


“I almost wore the same thing. That would have been embarrassing,” I said in response to his “Do come in.”  


"I'm sure you would have looked lovely,” he replied, “ but I can't find fault with what you're wearing right now.”  


“Thank you,” I replied casually. In truth I was going to find a way to remember that for the rest of my life and beyond, “but I realize you're a salesman right now, so until the pitch is done I'm not going to believe a word you say to flatter me.”  


“So what do you have planned for the rest of the day?”  


“I thought I'd go and walk in the Tiergarten. I'm not much of a city girl so I'm going to head to the nearest green space and see what happens.” Instead of being at a party where I only knew a few people, I was in a country where I only knew a few people. It was a big jump from my insulated lifestyle, but I was up for it.  


“Would you like to order?” he asked. “I have to admit I'm too nervous, but you go ahead. Anything you like.”  


As if I would eat on my own in front of the man who doesn't have a spare ounce on him. I knew I should have gone Scarlett O'Hara and had something in my room first.  


“I'm fine too then. Why would you be nervous?”  
He led me to a table placed in front of double doors covered in white sheers. The diffused light hit him just right, haloing his curls and highlighting that razor-sharp jawline.  


“It was actually something you said last night,” he said as he settled into a chair.  


“If it was something I said when we were drunk, please just ignore it.” I tried to lighten the mood by smiling but he remained serious.  


“I can't. Yes, we had been drinking but you looked right at me and said, _Don't disappoint me_. It's shaken my confidence. I had been planning out this speech for weeks and when you turned those big green eyes on me and said that oh so intently, my heart sunk like a stone.”  


And mine had been pierced by the tiniest of arrows. Ouch. “Tom, precious, I thought I was melodramatic but you make me look like an amateur. Let me tell you something. Don't listen to anything I say after midnight or after two drinks. I don't. Keep to that rule and you'll be fine.”  


There he smiled. Angels wept. “Also, I wasn't sure if you even liked me. I heard I was up for the lead in _The Exception_ , but your people never called.”  


“I like you Tom, I like you very much, but you're too old to play Chace. Those rumors didn't come from me. Nicholas was the better choice, unless you wanted to play Therese? You could have been a lovely drag queen with those cheekbones and eyes, but I don't think you would have been able to survive the tuck. You would have had a tail.”  


He laughed and it took over his entire body. It was a sight to see how he gave his whole self to what he was feeling. I wondered if he did that in every situation.  


“I'm a man, there is no such thing as too old for a role.” Then he gave me a wink. “So what should I tell you to convince you that I am the right person for this job? I could go on about the themes of loss and separation and how the camera could enhance those. I could tell you that I've already made some notes on how to transcribe your words to a visual medium and I would love to see how they compare to your script, if you do have one already. Or I could just say I'd love to have an excuse to work with you for a few months. What would be my best argument?”  


“Who were you thinking would play Oliver? I've got a list if you need one.”  


“Actually I thought I would,” he answered, thrown by my question. “Is that a problem?”  


“You don't think it's too much to handle?”  


“It's a new experience. I want to embrace it as fully as possible. If I didn't think I could do it, I think I'd still try,” he smiled, pleased with himself. If he had suffered from a lack of confidence, it was overflowing now.  


“Then I want to be one of your new experiences. Let's do this. Tell me about your vision.” 

*-*-*


	3. Tribeca, New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Learning the ropes of the movie business.

__

_Tribeca, Lower Manhattan, New York City, New York_

__

_population 10,395_

__

_10013- NYC's most expensive zipcode_

__

_Abbreviation of “Triangle Below Canal Street”_

“What about him?” I asked.

 

“No, you don't want to talk to him. He'll promise you whatever you ask for as long as he can look down your dress, but once a larger set of tits walk by, you're going to be forgotten.”

 

I hadn't been sure what to expect when Tom took my hand in his and led me without a word of explanation behind a tall empty table fronting a curve in the wall, a temporary bar now abandoned from earlier in the evening. Hidden behind the discarded wine glasses and empty liquor bottles, we were in a hunting blind on this savanna, picking out our trophies- the wild film producers. Shoulder to shoulder, we surveyed everyone else. Once I had one in my sights, he would relate their vital characteristics and relative desirability.

 

“That happened to you?”

 

“It's what I've heard,” Tom answered, his elbows resting on the watermarked surface, keeping his back flat and his legs straight. “From more than one source.”

 

“So this is like speed dating for money. We have thirty seconds to convince them to invest?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And why do we have to beg? Aren't people coming to us? That's what happened last time, which is the whole of my experience.”

 

I had told my people to forward any correspondence on the matter to Tom's people, but it seemed like there had been plenty of interest before he hopped on board. I doubted his involvement would turn any of them away.

 

“Some of them have, but it's good to catch them at places like this to have them put faces to projects and get a feel for what they like- to see if they demand it be filmed somewhere disreputable to save a few dollars or to add in a couple sex scenes and a gunfight to keep things exciting.”

 

“You don't sound like this is your first rodeo. I'm impressed.”

 

“I've asked so many people for advice on this I'm certain they've all blocked my number by now.” He turned his head and gave me an embarrassed smile.

 

“Everyone I've met has raved about how perfect and delightful you are, I don't know why any of these guys wouldn't want in on this. You've got the name, the face, the talent, the charm. You're not going to blow the budget on hookers and bullshit expenses. It's like letting a boy scout hold your wallet and he gives it back to you with more in it. Surely they can see they'll make money.”

 

“I don't know. Boyscouts are dull. They might like a little controversy to spur attention. In the end, they might not care why people go to see it as long as they see it.”

 

Looking out on all the excess- the food, the alcohol, the tiny packets switching owners between handshakes, the clothes, the jewels, the physical modifications, it was amazing there was any money left to actually make movies. “I didn't think everyone was here for the love of art, but that's a bit depressing. When do we stop cataloguing them and actually do our in-person spiel?”

 

“We can start at any time, but I thought a rundown of certain players might serve you well in your future endeavours.”

 

“Thank you,” I replied. “You are my modern film industry docent and this has been quite a tour.”  
“Glad to be of service. Anything else you might need from me?”

 

So many answers to that question.  
“What do you want to do after this?” asked Tom. I could see the nervous energy coiled up in him like a spring.

 

“Next? This wasn't the only item on your agenda this evening?” This was the last item on my Tribeca checklist and I was looking forward to crossing it off.

 

“Why should it be? It's still early.”

 

“Maybe for you. I need to catch my train home so that's nearly three hours before I can fall into bed.”

 

He frowned at me. “What train home? You're going back tonight?”

 

“I always planned to catch the late train, Tom.”

 

He shrugged it off. “You can get the next one.”

 

“There isn't a next one until morning.”

 

“Then catch one of those,” he said casually as if that was the most obvious answer.

 

“You knew I only came up for the day, I didn't book a room.”

 

“I didn't think you meant it. I'm sure we could find you someplace to rest your head for the night. ”

 

“No, I'm done with this place,” I answered. “I'm not fond of New York.”

 

“Really, I thought this was the American Elysium?”

 

“It's like walking in a movie, and not in a good way. Everything is so familiar, it holds no magic for me. The unending horizontal and vertical stretches of concrete throw off my sense of direction. There's too much of everything and the people here have this pressing need to experience it all and fill every minute with activity.”

“She is a bit indiscriminate,” Tom said with a smirk. “Everyone's seen her charms.”

 

“Yes, I prefer a little mystery.”

 

“Is there anything I can say to change your mind? Tell me what will tempt you and it's yours. I can think of something I want but I don't think you're willing to give me. We have unfinished business from the last time we met.”

“Are you trying to get a karaoke rematch?” I asked. “You can complain all you want, but I did not Cure-block you.” He was never going to let this go.

“You knew there was no way I could go up right after you with the same band. You planned that.”

The aggrieved tone in his voice filled my two-sizes-too-small heart with delight. “I was told to sing whatever would get me the most free drinks. Is it my fault you have no imagination? If you had gone first, I would have adjusted.”

“You would have gotten the drinks anyway. Your top was too low.”

He was one to talk. I was certain an extra button or two had been undone on his oxford by the time he had gone onstage in that tiny little Berlin club.

We had talked about the script, about film, about art and life in general, what we had thought as children that hadn't been mangled and crushed by time, who was the best James Bond, the merits of cheesecake versus ice cream, until the sun had set and he was barely more than the shape of his white t-shirt in the fading light. When his phone began to ring, signaling the rest of the world was tired of waiting for him to return, I was ready to go. My characters would be in good hands with Tom. I could sign them over and know he wouldn't change them too much. I had my hand on the hotel room door when he called out and asked me if I wanted to join a small group for dinner and other amusements. I told him he had to be sick of the sight of me by now, but he had insisted. Since my alternatives were to wander about on my own in the dark or spend the evening cross-legged on the bed staring at my computer screen, I agreed.

By the time we had found the karaoke bar, I had hit both my midnight and two-drink limit, so everything was a bad idea. It didn't take much encouragement to let my closet exhibitionist out. I took to the stage and growled out my best Robert Smith impression on _Why Can't I Be You_ , singing to every man I could see in the light of the stage. I returned to our table in the dim smoke at the edge of the room feeling pretty triumphant. When it was Tom's turn, he loped to the microphone, set his puppy eyes on every woman in the room, one by swooning one, and crooned out _La Vie En Rose_ , in French naturally. Bastard had countered my blatant flirtation with subtle sentiment. Advantage, Tom. Our table had been swarmed with fluttering women. I slipped out the door to keep from finding out which one won his attention for the rest of the night. I had no idea why he had been so convinced that I had beaten him.

“Are you seriously pouting about this? That was two months ago. Next time, I will give you the entire catalog of The Cure. I will even throw in any other English band of the 80s-New Order, Depeche Mode, English Beat, The Smiths, Duran Duran, what else? The Police, The Psychedelic Furs, Squeeze. Hell, I'll even throw in U2 and I'll still kick your ass, precious.”

“Then stay here for a few more days?” he asked. “After we charm these investors, we can see more of the films, I can have my karaoke revenge and we can fool around with the script. There are a couple places I know of you might like or we could go to Central Park or out on the water. The weather is supposed to be beautiful all week.”

He was offering the opposite of our situation right now- open air and sunlight and freedom. I could see the salt spray on his tanned skin, feel the heat from sidewalks rising through the soles of our shoes. Could I hold off and take another train? Surely I could rearrange some things... Wasn't this my time to live life the way I wanted to? No, I had responsibilities and made promises. Of the many games I could think of to play with dear Tom, jump/how high? was not one of them.

“As tempting as that offer is, I'm actually headed to London tomorrow and I'll be there for the next week. I haven't been since I was two, so I've packed as much into every day as I could. I'm not even going to be available to talk. Sorry.”

“You don't want to do that,” he said, making sure his voice was the most golden of honey. “Hold off and wait for me. I'll show you around the town properly, all the secret treasures and hidden corners.”

My phone buzzed itself off the table. I bent down to pick it up just as Tom did. The screen announcing one new text was the only light. I could barely see us reaching along the ground. I picked up the phone, and Tom took my hand and pulled it upward. Instead of the gallant brush against my fingers I had very much gotten used to, he turned it over and pressed his lips against my wrist.

“Your pulse is racing.”

“Mild claustrophobia,” I answered, and it was true. The space was closing in on me. I was aware that no one could see us, if I moved in the slightest I'd know more about his body than I'm sure he'd be comfortable with, and none of this was a good idea. As much as I liked to daydream, I needed to keep the line between work and personal clear and well-defined.

He lifted me up sharply. “Do you need to go outside for some air?”

If I went outside I'd keep going until I hit Penn Station.

“I'll be fine,” I answered and checked the text that had arrived- When are you coming home? I've been here alone for hours.

“I can't change my plans. I have commitments. Family commitments.”

Another thing I had done ahead of him.

“I see. How unfortunate.” A shadow crossed over his face before his autopilot kicked back in and he smiled brightly. “It seems we are star-crossed, darling.”

“There is no such thing as star-crossed acquaintances, Tom. Let's go impress some people.”

*-*-*


	4. Cannes, France

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The danger of moonlight.

__

_Cannes, Alpes-Maritimes, France:_

__

_Provence-Alpes-Cote d'Azur, France 8 square miles, population- 72, 939, average May temp 20˚ C_

__

_The French Riviera_

Tom unlocked the hotel room door, still holding onto my hand. He had practically dragged me along the hallway from the elevator. I was an unsteady combination of champagne and stilettos. It was a miracle I had gotten this far. His jacket was draped across my bare shoulders and I wiggled a little to feel the silk lining caress me. This was definitely not my life.

 

I had been grateful when he approached me and leaned in to whisper, “Let's get out of here.” If I had thought Santa Barbara had been bad, Cannes was a nightmare. Sunshine, wind, stairs, shouts in all different languages, people pressing in, people smiling until they found out I had no real influence. It kept going all day and into the nights without ceasing.

 

In what I found to be his typical way- at least with me, Tom hadn't bothered with any preamble when we met again, but had swept me up into a waltz inside the party. If it had been any more complicated I would have been an embarrassment, but I could handle a box step around the room.

 

“Hello, precious.”

 

“Darling.”

 

“Why are you so happy?” I asked. There was a glow about him more than his usual luminescence. I knew why I was. One set of our hands was clasped tightly together while the other was pressed firmly against hip and shoulder. I was having a princess moment, dancing with the charming prince to the envy of the others. If I hadn't had to concentrate on my feet, I would have melted right there into a puddle.

 

“ _Ma reine de la nuit, nous avons obtenu les fonds necessaires pour demarrer la production._ ”

 

“Oh, is that all? I thought it was something important.”

 

It was cruel to take that smile away from the world, but I did. He frowned and then gave me a sheepish look, forehead wrinkled and mouth turned down. “I was being pretentious, wasn't I? You didn't understand.”

 

I shrugged it away. “ _Je vous comprends, mon petit pamplemousse._ When can we start? How long before you need a final draft?”

 

“Toward the end of September. Do you think we can do it?” This had to be his Christmas morning face. I could have stared at it for days.

 

“Of course, but I'm vain. I think it's perfect already. If you want a few more tweaks on it, no problem.”

 

“There's so much to do...” He fell lost in thought which was a bad idea when trying to navigate around other people. I stopped and pulled him off the dance floor.

 

“You have nothing to worry about. I'm sure you've been observant over the years as you've been in all these places and all these sets. You know what will work. Your ideas are strong. The people you bring on will get it.”

 

“You are going to help, aren't you? This is your story.”

 

“You don't need me,” I answered. “I just channel imaginary people and write down the conversations that take place inside my head, the result of which I have legally transferred over to you. What you do after that isn't mine to decide.”

 

“Tom! Over here!”

 

A large man with slick black hair was waving at us- well, at him. I took a step back. “You go on ahead and be your charming self. It's been a while since I hid in the shadows and held up the wall. The room might not be structurally sound if I socialize much longer.”

 

Tom wasn't impressed with my idea. “No, you're coming with me. This is your celebration as well and I want you to take credit. This is going to sound dreadfully predictable, but you need to make the rounds and put in some time if you want to work with the right people.”

 

So I was pulled along from group to group, accepting congratulations and answering questions. Throughout it all, Tom kept hold of my hand. The way I was hanging off his wrist, I began to wonder if I was now his lucky bracelet.

 

“Tom!”

 

“Colette!”

 

“I haven't seen you in ages.”

 

“I was just thinking the same thing about you, darling. I missed you in Berlin.”

 

I wasn't going to be introduced to this one. My hand was released as he reached out to wrap his arms around her. I understood, I would have done the same. She was stunning- taller even than Tom in glittering heels, the slim skirt on her gown was cut all the way up to her hipbone. Her shining dark hair wasn't misbehaving in the seaside air. Her nails were surely never chewed on in moments of anxiety. Her lipstick looked bulletproof. It certainly hadn't rubbed off onto Tom's cheeks. That blush was all his own. I could see how the beautiful people could fall into each other so easily. There was no need for drawn-out, awkward phases of Does she like me? or Does he think I'm pretty? All of that was asked and answered.

 

My tangerine-colored dress had seemed bright and cheery and Mediterranean earlier but now it reminded me I wasn't the princess of this story, I was the pumpkin. It had its moment of magic too, but then it was forgotten. No one noticed as I slipped away and headed for the door.

 

The terrace was empty in the chill of the night. I watched the moonlight accentuate the gentle waves of the Mediterranean past the reflected glow of the city lights. Santa Barbara had been nice and it could call itself the American Riviera all it wanted to, but it couldn't compare to this. Geographically, the vistas were just as ancient but there was a sense of history here, a continuation so different from the raze and replace culture I was used to. How did I end up here?

 

My phone started to buzz and I pulled it out from the top of my dress, glad there were no witnesses. I should have found one with pockets.

 

“So how's it going?”

 

“Hey sweetie,” I answered. “I'm still out.”

 

“Sorry. You didn't have to pick up, it's not an emergency.”

 

“No, it's fine. I like to hear from you and I'm alone, just out getting some air. How are you doing? Did you just get back from work? Did you heal hearts and minds?”

 

“Not yet, but it's ok. I like it. How's your job? Have you met anyone cool?”

 

“I'm too afraid to talk to any of them. They're not going to care about anything I have to say.”

 

“Come on, don't be a chicken. How many times are you going to do this? Take a chance, do something you wouldn't and you might have some fun.”

 

“I miss you,” I said, feeling homesick. “You're the best, you know that, right?”

 

“Only because you're my mom.”

 

“I'll talk to you tomorrow... well, later today? I love you, bunny.”

 

“Ok, I love you, too.”

 

I tucked the phone away and leaned with my forearms on the concrete railing. Footsteps approached and two large warm hands rested on my shoulders. I pulled myself up straight. He needed a bell put on him if he wasn't going to announce himself.

 

“There you are. I turn around for one second and you scamper off. I was hoping I'd find you laughing in the center of an admiring crowd, but of course you've hidden yourself.”

 

“It's too much sometimes,” I admitted. “If you're expecting me to instantly be outgoing and gregarious because you told me to, I'm sorry. I can't completely change who I am.”

 

“I didn't mean to press you. I just wanted to help. I see you as this lamb roaming the meadow and I have this urge to keep the wolves away.”

 

“'You've appointed yourself my sheepdog?”

 

“I suppose so.” I could feel him taking in a deep breath. “Glorious, isn't it? Think of all the civilizations that looked out at this sea, just as we are now, the great and terrible things such an unconquerable stretch must have inspired.”

 

“Half a mile out is supposed to be the Ile Sainte-Marguerite, where the real man in the iron mask was kept. I read it somewhere prepping for the trip. Have you ever been? The island is supposed to be full of umbrella pines and flowers. I want to check it out before I leave.”

 

“No, I can't say I have, but you should definitely go.” The wind picked up and blew strong across the open space. I rubbed my hands along my arms. “Here, take this.”

 

I turned to see him holding out his suit jacket. “No, I couldn't. I'll go back inside and I'll be fine.”

 

He dropped it on my shoulders. “I insist.” He leaned over to try and fasten the buttons but that was a fool's errand- his shoulders were broad but my chest was pushed up and out in this fancy, corseted bit of frippery. “Let's get out of here,” he whispered as he was bent in close. “I've had enough of it all and I know you have, too.”

 

“What did you have in mind?” He was even more perfect under moonlight. The shadows cast on his face turned him into a charcoal portrait of Adonis. I would have agreed to any suggestion he offered. After all, I had orders to do something I normally wouldn't.

 

“Let's go back to my room and see what's playing on late-night French tv. Maybe order something sweet from room service while we talk about the film?”

 

“I like the sound of that.”

 

Once in the room though, we both fell flat on our backs on the bed, hands still clasped. I shook my feet to kick off my shoes. My energy drained from me once we were cocooned in silence.

 

“I don't even want to search for the remote,” said Tom with a yawn. “Any chance you could find it or the light switch?”

 

The curtains were open on his windows and I looked up at the full moon. It lit the floor but not much else in the dark room.

 

“Wanna hear something dumb?”

 

“Sure, why not?” he answered.

 

“I hate to be alone in the moonlight. It always feels like it should be shared with someone.”

 

“Why is that dumb?”

 

“I'm not usually that sentimental.” I turned my head to look at him. “If you tell anyone, I'll deny it.”

 

“You do have a romantic streak, I've read your work.”

 

I turned my head to the other side, saw the pillows of the bed glowing in the dim light. The bed-who was I kidding by being vague? This was his bed. I hadn't escaped yet after all. This was still the land of too much happening.

 

“I write about serial killers and supervillains, too. What does that say about the types of streaks I have?”

 

“Surely you believe in love?”

 

I could feel his eyes on me. “It's a thing. It happens. I've heard good reviews about it.”

 

“But it's not for you?”

 

“I don't think it's as available as everyone likes to pretend. It's rare and it's powerful and I can't see anyone wanting to waste it on me. You know how Groucho Marx said he wouldn't want to be part of a club that would have him as a member? I can't see myself having any respect, much less love, for any man who saw me as endgame. Clearly he has low standards and no ambition. I couldn't condemn a man to a life with me, no matter how badly I want it.”

 

“That's a very sad thing to hear, darling.”

 

“Well, I didn't have an agent and a bright future at nineteen. I had a one year old child and an abusive alcoholic husband, and we were living in my mother-in-law's laundry room. I don't want to get maudlin, but we've had very different experiences. I can't imagine you've ever had to put your life on hold for someone else. I kept telling myself, maybe next year, for sixteen years until I saw just how much time had passed and I couldn't guarantee I had much more. Then I put all my effort into being a part of the world I had just observed for so long, but it wasn't as good as I had hoped. People were smaller than the ones I had created. They didn't care for much beyond their little circle of life. It saddened me and I decided to not expect friendship or any real connection.”

 

Tom reached out and brushed back my hair with his free hand. “What about me? You don't feel we have a connection?”

 

“We do. I don't know how, but we do. At least, I want to think that. I can't believe we'd be lying here like this if we didn't, but honestly, I can't know what's in your head. I think I missed out on learning how to really interact with people. Once this production is over and we've wrapped the filming and done the press and had the premieres, we're going to move on to other projects and we're going to say that we'll keep in touch and maybe we'll tweet each other, send Christmas cards, but it won't be like this anymore.”

 

“Why not?” His thumb began to move in lazy circles against my wrist. He was bored. I shouldn't have talked so long and so depressingly.

 

“That's the question I always end up asking myself when someone disappears from my life. Why couldn't it have stayed the way it was? Was it really that bad? Was I so awful I didn't deserve an explanation?”

 

I sat up, walked to the window and opened it. There wasn't enough of a breeze to dry out the tears falling from the edge of my lashes. The champagne was wearing off and my head was pounding. I had to get out. Real life wasn't supposed to intrude on these little getaways. Turning around, I let my breath out slowly and pulled my shoulders straight. Tom was still lying on the bed, his feet flat on the floor. He lifted his hand to invite me back. I clenched a handful of my dress in my fist to keep from accepting it.

 

“I can just feel the misery and self-pity caked on me now, so I'm going to go take a shower and then think happy thoughts until I fall asleep. I'll see you tomorrow.”

 

Tom raised himself up on his elbows. “Josie, don't go yet.”

 

“I need to. You need to get up and change out of those clothes before you wrinkle those pants up all to hell. We have a lot to get done in the morning. There's a movie we have to make and need to get started with the plans.”

 

“Can I at least be one of your happy thoughts then?”

 

I pulled together a smile. “You always are, precious.”

 

*-*-*

 

_The French is supposed to read “My queen of the night, we have secured the funds to begin the production.” and “I understand, my little grapefruit.” I apologize for any errors due to my junior high level French and BabelFish translator._


	5. Seattle, Washington

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Classic lack of communication. :)

__

_Seattle, Washington, USA_

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_“The Emerald City”_

I thought I had reached a good place. When I saw Tom these days, I didn't immediately think I was having a near death experience and angels were descending. He was just Tom- the voice on the other end of the line, the hyperactive boy and the eloquent man who asked too many questions with a penchant for fifty-cent words. I still daydreamed about tasting his guava tinted lips and reaching for the prize at the bottom of his cereal box, but I could keep my flights of fancy separate from reality.

Until he opened his hotel room door wearing only a towel.

All that I had planned to say boiled away to steam to burn my cheeks. I defensively held out the stack of papers in my hand between us. “Script?” I managed to squeak out.

He stepped a hair too close, always trying to fit himself into frame even with no camera around. I catalogued everything in plain view- navel, abs, arms, shoulders, collarbone, neck, jaw, ears. Yes, keep your gaze up high. Water droplets hung in his hair, in his eyebrows, in the tiny crinkles about his eyes... No, there was no safe place. Dipping my head to focus on the script or even the floor was not an option. Repeat: lowering your eyes is not an option. It was statistically impossible that he was perfect. There had to be some flaw somewhere- a toe that bent oddly, an ill-advised tattoo, but I saw just about everything and I saw nothing.

My eyes were the only ones with any satisfaction. My tongue strained to pass my clenched teeth and my fingers threatened to drop the pages in favor of something warmer. It was one thing to pause a hi-def blu-ray, _theoretically_ , and another to see all three dimensions breathing and moving a few feet away. He was a bowl of wax fruit in front of me, tempting and delicious but not meant for consumption.

“This has the new changes?” he asked, not taking the script, not moving away, not disappearing in a puff of smoke and reappearing fully dressed.

“I wouldn't have bothered printing this all out unless it did.” I had a choice to step into the room or to bolt- flirt or flight. I paused, focused on the stripes in the hallway wallpaper. “I'm not crazy, right? You did tell me this morning to bring it by once I was back and we'd talk it over? I'm feeling a little overdressed for the occasion. I mean, I was planning on seeing an impressive monolith while in the city but I thought I'd have to leave the hotel for that.”

“I'm sorry, the thought of tomorrow's production meeting was becoming too much so I went out for a run and I wasn't keeping close watch on the time once I returned. Give me a moment?”

I was hoping those words were accompanied by an embarrassed expression but there was no way I was going to glance over to check. There were two ways this went down- apparently he was so comfortable with me that it hadn't occurred to him that this was right on the edge of inappropriate, but was it because he wanted me to see him with only an improvised sarong between me and what the Lord had given him or the more likely reason, because he didn't even view me as a woman who might want to see?

“Take your time,” I answered. Pulling a notebook out of my bag, I began to feverishly write, needing to spill out everything that was happening in my head to scrawl cramped lines from edge to edge so an accidental observer couldn't pick out any one word. I had filled four pages and was casually seated at the table, paging through the discarded newspaper there by the time he came back, shirt tightly buttoned, legs covered. I held out the draft to him again. He took it from my hand and sat down by the window. I hadn't expected him to immediately start reading it but he turned back the first page and reached for a pen.

He was staring down the script, his eyes heavy-lidded and intense. The fresh unseen lines were going to give up their hidden meanings and they were going to give it up hard. His right hand clutched the remaining pages in a firm grip, relaxing only when the fingers of his left hand gently caressed the supple sheet to move it along and reveal a new set of words to him. The pen was clenched between his teeth gently, tight enough to ensure possession but not enough to mark the surface. His breath flowed out around its barrel regularly, warming the plastic body. He had one of his long legs firmly on the floor, anchoring himself, the ankle of the other resting on his knee, opening up the hips until he pitched forward suddenly. He ripped the pen free, held the paper down securely on the table and made a strong bold stroke on its surface. Satisfied, he leaned back again, licked his lips, returned the pen and ran a hand through his hair before turning to the next page.

“Do you need a glass of water?” I asked. “I really could use a drink right now.”

Tom looked up, startled. Did he forget I was there? It was just as well then that I had to go soon. “No, no. I'm fine. What about you? Am I boring you, sitting here in silence?”

“Silence is good right now. I spent all day in interviews with my ex, acting like we're the best of friends, hearing about how he can't wait to go home to his perfect hipster wife and his perfect hipster kids complete with perfect hipster names.”

“And you have to come home to me? Dull and inattentive and not at all a hipster.”

Apparently, today's battle plan was a visual assault with emotional shelling. “I didn't mean it like that. I love our time together, if this was home I'd never leave. Home is empty and cold and sorting through stacks of mail and watching collected shows off the DVR, wondering how much longer I can put off cutting the grass or tackling the stacks of laundry. This is my oasis.” And you are a mirage.

Tom closed the script and pushed it aside. “Do you want to order dinner in or should we go out? I'm not fond of the pacing of scene four anymore and I want to run a few ideas past you but we could use a break first.”

This was the moment I had been avoiding and needing at the same time. “I can't. Actually, I need to head out pretty soon.”

“I thought it was just us tonight? I hardly saw you this morning.” He had been thrown and the look on his face was enough to make me abandon everything.

I pushed the chair back and stood. I had to tell him. “I know that was the plan, precious, but when I was out earlier, I ran into someone... and I ended up accepting a dinner invitation.” I hoped that was all the information I'd have to give. “I can't keep clinging to you in every new situation like a drowning man reaching for the first sturdy thing he sees. I'll drag us both down. You're not always going to be around.”

Tom looked me over, gears turning in his mind. “You're leaving out a lot. You made a date, didn't you? You're abandoning me for another man. Do I know him? Do you know him? Are you sure you're not going to end up in bags on the side of the highway?”

“I didn't know we had a formal appointment, Tom. It was a spontaneous gesture and I accepted. He's going to be leaving in the morning so I figured what the hell.”

“So it is a date?” His eyebrow raised.

“It's not... it couldn't be... well, maybe it is, I'm not sure,” I answered. “You're the one always telling me to be more open and not hide away from life. I made sure you got the new draft before I left. Look, I feel strange enough about this already, I can't do it if I know you're here seething at me.”

The eyebrow dropped and his pursed mouth relaxed. “We never seem to have enough time together. I thought you considered it as valuable as I do, but I can't order you not to go.”

 _But you could_ , I wanted to say. _I half accepted just to see what you would do_. “It doesn't have to be an order. Do you want me to stay with you? I'd rather spend the evening watching you read than suffer through another awkward conversation at another unfamiliar place full of noise and strangers. Or we could go out. The script can wait a few hours. There's a whole city out there. We could have a memory of this place that didn't involve another impersonal hotel room. Just say the word and I'll cancel.”

His eyes closed for a moment. “No,” he said at last with a smile that didn't reach past his lips. “You're right. I was looking forward to spending the night with you, but I can't tell you to be spontaneous and then get upset when you are. We'll return to this another time.”

“I'm sorry, Tom. Tomorrow? I'm free in the morning before the production meeting. Do you still want me there?”

“I don't think so. I'll see what I can do on my own.” He leaned back and picked up the script.

There was that old familiar feeling- guilt. It knew how to nestle itself right in my throat. _How dare you do something on your own when someone might need you?_ What was worse- I wanted him to need me. I wanted him to demand for me to stay. He should have pushed that chair to the ground behind him and rushed over and while cradled in his arms, he would tell me that no other man could ever be as devoted to me as he was.

But he kept his eyes on the page in front of him, on another story I had conjured of two people who were perfect for each other, a story just as fictional as the one playing in my head right now.

“All right then,” I answered. “You know how to find me.”

*-*-*


	6. Traverse City, Michigan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kissy bits :)

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_Traverse City, Michigan, USA_

__

_“Cherry Capital of the World”_

“I thought you were arriving yesterday.”

 

“I'm here now,” I answered, ignoring Tom's accusatory tone.

 

“Your phone was off. I couldn't help but imagine the worst. I couldn't sleep all night, I couldn't concentrate all day.”

 

His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses but his mouth was held in a pout. The large coffee cup in front of him was half empty despite the heavy humidity in the July afternoon. I sipped at my lemonade in silence and watched the people filling the sidewalk. It would be rude to tell him that it hadn't occurred to me to let him know about my delay. After our last meeting, I had tried to keep more of a distance. I returned every call and answered every question, but I backed off of my casual familiarity. No more teasing, no more pet names, just two adults on a temporary assignment. There was no point in giving him any more value than that.

 

All of his beautiful nascent curls were gone before they had a chance to fully form. I had missed my chance to run my fingers through them, which was just as well because they were never offered up for my touch. His hair was now closely cropped on the sides with just the slightest hint of blonde waves up top. Much more suitable for the heat but not for the role of a distracted, mournful university professor. I knew I was looking for reasons to find fault with him, but I couldn't help but feel annoyed. Even though filming wasn't for another two months, he was preparing to inhabit one of my characters and he was doing it wrong.

 

“You could have called Mandy. She knew where I was. All business questions should go through her anyway.”

 

He harrumphed. “I don't know Mandy's number. I wanted to hear from you.”

 

“My phone died. I wasn't in a position to charge it and then I was on the plane. I heard all your messages and called you as soon as I got to my room. I agreed to meet with you before I even unpacked a bag. That was the best I could do under the circumstances.”

 

“I don't know why you're angry. You were the one who left me in Seattle. I didn't do anything.”

 

That was the problem. He hadn't done anything, but I was the only one who had expected him to.

 

“I'm not mad, Tom. I've been busy. I've done everything you've asked since then, haven't I?”

 

Tom leaned forward to speak softer even though no one in the crowded cafe or on the street were paying us any mind. “Without your usual spark. Where's your saucy comments, your fight? You haven't called me precious in weeks. You know you're still my darling.” He gave me a slow-blooming smile.

 

While that would have killed me before, I forced myself not to react. It was just pretty-boy instinct to manipulate through charm. By his logic, I was equal to the hostess, the waitress and the girl who had come up to take his picture, and that was just today. “You call everyone darling.”

 

“Yes, well...” He pulled a couple of bills from his pocket, dropped them on the table and stood up, stretching impossibly long legs. “Let's go for a walk. I can't sit still any longer.”

 

I gathered up my things and followed him down the block toward the city-center park. He held out his hand as we crossed the street, searching for mine without looking, like a child, but I kept my phone in one and my bag in the other. As I had feared, my resolve to keep an emotional distance was weakening just by being near him and I could not add physical contact.

 

The sky was bright blue, spread with perfectly puffed white clouds and there was enough breeze to ruffle the leaves of the trees that filled the park. The gleeful yet disconcerting shrieks of children filled the air while their parents chatted on wooden benches. It was so normal- no ten thousand-dollar suits and borrowed gemstones, no agents and assistants to convey conversations through, people being themselves and not who they were paid to be. Tom was in neither reality, his face told me he was lost in his own world. I wondered if he even noticed this was the first time we'd been outside together in public during the day, just the two of us outside the roped confines of some industry event or another.

 

Tom stopped under a shifting patch of shade. “Josie, could we talk seriously for once?”

 

Before I could answer, there was a coordinated squeal and we found a gaggle of girls huddled behind us on the other side of the path. “Tom! Tom! Is that you? Over here!”

 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Damn.”

 

“Go on,” I said. “They're the ones who pay the bills.”

 

“You're not going to run off?” he asked, reaching for my hand again but I pulled away, aware our every move was being watched and most assuredly filmed.

 

“I promise nothing,” I answered, glancing at the crowd edging closer. “They look determined and I'm not armed.”

 

Flashes were already supplementing the copious sunshine. He looked to them and back to me. “Can I come by your room in an hour?”

 

“Sure. Now go be the gorgeous and delightful incarnation of everything they've dreamed of.”

 

Tom slapped on a smile brighter than any one I had ever been given and turned to his admirers. There was a dilemma. Was it better to get all of his attention and love for thirty seconds or his presence but no affection for months? Maybe I hadn't thought through this deal.

 

I strolled through the town a little. We were at the tail end of cherry festival merriment and signs perched in windows or scrawled on boards centered on the sidewalks proclaimed various available local delicacies. I lingered as long as I dared, picked up a few things and settled into my room to go over my commitments for the evening and await my fair companion.

 

Tom knocked fifty-three minutes after I last saw him. As soon as the door closed, he swept me up into his arms and began to dance along with the tune playing from my laptop. It was an effort to keep from stepping on his oversized shoes as his feet moved restlessly across the floor. My defenses were shot and I surrendered to his enthusiasm.

 

“Your mood has certainly changed,” I said once the song ended and shifted to something less suited for dancing. “You're not mad at me for not calling anymore?”

 

“Like you said, you're here now. Why waste time? I'm sorry if I was short with you.” He rested his chin on the top of my head and kept me close, his arms crossed loosely around my back.

 

“It's all forgotten.” I was weak, I knew it, but tomorrow we'd be off again in different directions. I was going to take this and add it to my collection of treasured moments. I'd almost gathered enough to make it through the days when he was gone for good.

 

“What's that?”

 

He was pointing to a glass canning jar on the table by the door. “This is supposedly Chambord cherry butter. It sounded irresistible. Care to try some with me?”

 

“Let's.” He unscrewed the metal lid, placed it down and looked about the room. “With what?”

 

“It's our jar, just dip your finger in it.”

 

Tom grinned. “All right. If it's any good, we can figure what to put it on and call room service.”

 

He miscalculated the trajectory and left behind a dab of the jam on the edge of his mouth. Without thinking, I swiped my own finger across the width of his lower lip, feeling both its softness and the scratch of his stubble below, collected the excess and ran my tongue over my fingertip, tasting the sour fruit, the strong liqueur, and the sweet pure sugar blended together.

 

“Is it irresistible?” I asked.

 

My heart was pounding. It was a bold move, a gesture that I would never have done if I had been as hyperaware of him as I had been before. I held my breath, waiting in agony to see his reaction. There had to be a response. Positive or negative, I had to know.

 

“A little tart,” he replied.

 

It wasn't the answer I had hoped for, so I instinctively went into defensive mode. “If I had a nickel every time I was called that...”

 

Tom stepped back, a frown on his lovely face. “You always have a joke, don't you? You can't take anything seriously.”

 

“There are so many things in life that should be taken seriously, I'm sorry if I latch on to the ones that shouldn't. It's not wrong to want to be happy, precious,” I answered. We could brush this off. The day wasn't lost.

 

“Do I make you happy?” He tucked my hair back behind my ear. If only it was that simple.

 

“You delight me in ways I never thought possible, but if we're going to talk you have to start now because I'm on a tight schedule.”

 

“Do you have another date?” His expression was very dark now. “Just checking in with old Tom before the real evening begins? I'm not worth more than a few minutes here and there, am I?”

 

“Tom, these are not our private holidays. These are business trips. You should know that. They're meant to be as full of activity as possible. I'm already half a day behind, but here I am with you. When we find ourselves in the same place, you are the focus of my spare time. If it adds up to only a few minutes here and there, that's still more I give to you than I give to myself.”

 

He spoke calmly and coldly. “Well, you make sure that I don't get much more than that. Another appointment in your book and nothing else, off you go and then we start all over in the next city. I only exist to you in these stolen moments, don't I? Out of sight, out of mind?”

 

Actors, and children, always had to see everything in extremes. I wanted him to need me, but not in this petulant manner. The strain of the last two days- trying to fit everything into a race against an ever speeding clock pressed down too hard on me and I sprung. “You are exhausting! I can't give you the amount of attention you seem to require. My God, I wish I could, but I don't think any one person can. I give you everything and what do you ever give back? I wasn't part of the contract, Tom. You don't get me at your beck and call on a whim. I have a life beyond this film. Do you even ask about that? No, it's _Josie, can we change this? Josie, do these numbers work out? Josie, drop everything and meet me_.”

 

Tom took my anger and volleyed it right back.

 

“And you can't stomach any ounce of attention! You always make a joke or run off, so convinced that everything will turn out wrong you won't even try. I can't pin you down long enough to ask you anything important, anything not about this film. I'm amazed you even agreed to another date. I would have told the poor fool not to bother- no fun to be had here, but clearly you're not always the timid little lamb you are around me. Sometimes I wonder if you even care about me or just what I can do for you.”

 

My “date” was a Q and A panel on the role of music in modern film- the result of taking his advice and networking and being outgoing. I had told him before and I certainly didn't feel the need to remind him now.

 

“You're the one who approached me! You're the one who pulls me around like I'm a little red wagon, telling me _Meet this person, smile at that person, let this one stare at your tits, don't let that one grab your ass_. I never asked you to! I've never dropped your name as leverage or influence and I never would. If anyone's being used, it's me, and not even in the good way.”

 

“Is that what you really want?” he asked, his voice low and still, the calm before the storm. “For me to use you?”

 

“Has anyone ever answered, no? It's all so easy for you beautiful people. Everything is in an inexhaustible supply and therefore disposable. Just bat your eyes and panties drop, you breathe and it's seduction. Are you even aware of the effect you have when you touch and tease? You don't know what it's like to have to earn that first kiss, do you? You don't have to find ways to make yourself valuable, to always make sure your assets outweigh your flaws.”

 

“Why don't you think it could be just as easy for you? Josie, if you knew the things said about you as you walk through a room, the envious congratulations I've gotten as other men assume I've done far more than brush my lips across your cheek. As far as they're concerned, you're already mine.”

 

“I'm sorry you have to suffer through their assumptions. I'm sure it won't keep you from finding your next darling, though. Why would I want something easy? I didn't work my way up from nothing to give myself away to anyone who likes how I fill out a dress. I don't want to have you, simply because I know it wouldn't mean anything to you. I'd have to interact with you for the next year, knowing in the end you're nothing but another smooth-talking wolf.”

 

We stood there, glaring at each other. Neither one was going to break, two stubborn rams locked in against each other, but if I wanted our film to go forward I did have to run away before one of us said something irreparable, if we hadn't already.

 

“I am walking into the other room,” I said in what I hoped was a steady voice. “That would be a good opportunity for you to leave.”

 

“No. You're not going to be the one to control things anymore.”

 

In one swift move, I was pulled against him, one strong arm keeping me in place as a hand tilted my chin up to look into eyes that held all smoke and no sparkle. I took in as much breath as I could before his mouth pressed against mine. Was this really happening or had I fallen asleep waiting for him to arrive? I could taste the cherry on his tongue, I could feel the summer heat still trapped in his shirt, damp and clinging to him, every muscle in his body tensed to prevent me from escaping. Before I could collect myself and return his kiss properly, he released me, leaving me rumpled and gasping for air.

 

“Tom...”

 

“Did that feel like it meant nothing to me? This is what you deserve, what I could give you every day if you would just let yourself. You think about that until I see you again.”

 

Yet still the gentleman, the door did not slam behind him.

 

*-*-*


	7. Toronto, Ontario, Canada

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay, more miscommunication!

__

_Toronto, Ontario, Canada_

__

_240 square miles, population 2,016,050_

__

_“The Queen City”_

__

_“Hollywood North”_

This interview needed to end.

 

We should have been through with these press demands by now but Mandy was being overzealous and Arthur kept agreeing to drag us out of the procession over to anyone with a camera from some place or other. Tom was at the other end of this line, somewhere inside the event. It would be the first time we'd see each other since the kiss and I'd certainly been thinking about it, I'd been thinking a lot. The room would be too crowded for an honest talk but I wanted to see his face more than anything. For the last few weeks, I had been promoted from _darling_ to _dearest_ in our conversations, but otherwise no other mention was made in the course of business as usual. If I could just see him, I'd know if he'd meant it.

 

“So, this movie, _The Exception_ , is about a woman who ends up living next door to her childhood crush, an actor-slash-musician on the run from his tabloid life. What made you decide to make it into a musical?” asked the interviewer who then tilted his microphone my way.

 

“That's just the way it came to me,” I answered, reciting my standard response, “but I don't have any musical composition skills so I wrote it straight out the first time. I asked Arthur if he wouldn't mind helping me out with the structure of some songs. We liked how it turned out so we made a short film version. People really responded to it and when we had the opportunity to expand on it, we got some bigger names, nicer sets and more attention.”

 

“My favorite song was _My Green Eyes were Wasted on a Color-Blind Boy_. Who wrote that?”

 

“I did the words, Arthur wrote the music.” This was basic packet information. What was the point if he wasn't going to ask something new? I started tapping my foot, wanting to run.

 

“Speaking of falling in love with the movie star next door, talk is you've been spending all your time with a certain one of your own?”

 

That was a new question. Arthur and the interviewer were both looking at me, waiting for my answer.

 

“Oh, you mean Tom? I wouldn't consider it all my time. I haven't even seen him since July.” A smile and an indifferent air should work. “He's filming another script of mine later this month, so we've met a few times.”

 

“Up on our site we've got a page dedicated to reports of how the two of you have been inseparable for months now- in and out of each other's hotel rooms at all hours, plus pictures and video from New York, Michigan, Cannes, and Berlin.”

 

His expression told me I should have known people were collecting pieces of my life for public consumption and it was no big deal. How foolish of me to think no one had noticed.

 

“Is that so? I might have to look and see what I was up to, because I only remember script revision and production budget meetings in quiet hotel rooms because that's where we happened to be and maybe hanging out for a few minutes on our way in or out of some industry event. If you've made that out into something salacious, you have a better imagination than I do.”

 

“So you're not dating?”

 

I ignored Arthur's laughter right in my ear. It was time to play politician and tell the truth while not telling the truth.

 

“I can't say we've ever even had that discussion. He could do much better for one. Tom has so graciously helped me navigate all these events and kept this country mouse from embarrassing herself too much. This whole swirl of globe-trotting is dizzying when you're not used to it. I hope he knows how much I appreciate his help and I don't see anything wrong in that. I am going to miss him when it's all over. I might write him something new just to have the excuse to work with him again.”

 

“What kind of character do you envision for him?”

 

“So, we're still on Tom? That's okay, you know what'll get you hits. I'd have to think about what he hasn't tackled yet and throw that at him. How do we want him to dance? Should he be funny? Do we want him to suffer? I've been told I don't do happy endings, but I could try.”

 

“There's Tom now. Let's ask him,” said the interviewer and turned to wave him over.

 

I made sure my face remained neutral since it was angled toward the camera as the interviewer introduced himself. Tom shook Arthur's hand and gave me a kiss on the cheek. There was no way to communicate much before he quickly turned his attention to the man with the microphone.

 

“Tom, Josie just said she wants you to suffer.”

 

He laughed his adorably lost laugh, all mirth, not at all the tempest I had seen last. “Did she now? What have I done this time?”

 

“I offered to write you something,” I said, wanting to be the one to explain. “We were discussing what to throw at your character.”

 

“Ooh, that is a question. What did you say?”

 

He kept his eyes on me as if no one else mattered. I wanted us away from here. I wanted to slip my arms around his waist where the last open button on his waistcoat teased me and feel his heart beat against my temple. I wanted to tell him about the places around Charlotte we should visit together- ones full of childhood significance, while we were on location. I wanted to share so many little things that I had collected over the last couple of months when our conversations were few and far between, but this was not the place.

 

“I hadn't any time to answer before you walked over.”

 

“Before that, they were talking about the rumors about the two of you,” said Arthur, fully aware that we were cutting into his interview time.

 

“Are there rumors about us, darling?”

 

I had been downgraded back to _darling_. “He says they have a page up dedicated to all of our secret rendezvous... es? What's the plural of rendezvous?”

 

The hand that had clasped mine when he arrived released and the light left his face. He turned to the interviewer. “Do you now?”

 

“It's reliable information that you both have been seen together lately. Is something going on?”

 

Tom turned to me. “What did you say?”

 

“I only spoke the truth.”

 

No one else could have registered the look of panic that flashed across his features before he turned to the camera. The hope that had been fluttering about high in my chest for the last few weeks lost altitude. While I wasn't expecting a confirmation, I was hoping for righteous anger or quiet scorn, at least a disdainful brush-off of the question, not having his whole face crinkle up as he laughed. They were all three laughing now. If it had been someone else, maybe I would have joined in, but it wasn't.

 

“I don't get what's so ridiculous,” I cut in. “I've held the temporary fascination of many a handsome man, yourself included, Arthur.”

 

Arthur went stone-faced. He wasn't willing to get dragged into this.

 

“I don't doubt you have,” said Tom, who then turned back to the microphone after he reined in his smile. “Well, you see, it's a disservice to the spectrum of human emotion to classify that only romantic or sexual connections between two people have value. No relationship can be strong without trust and I'm afraid we're not the best there. Not everyone can trust easily, and often for good reasons. Josie has trusted me with this story and that's all I could ever ask of her. I'm rambling now, aren't I? Generally, it's a terrible idea to get involved with someone you're working with, especially when you've opened yourself up to expressing these complex, close-to-the-heart emotions. It's easy to misread and confuse one thing for another. Nothing good comes from that. Luckily, Josie and I are honest with each other, so I don't think we'll have that problem.”

 

Arthur had broken up with me at the start of freshman year after a secret summertime romance by telling me in front of his friends that it had never happened. With those words, he erased every awkward, heavy-breathing moment between us, my first kiss, every contented silence simply holding hands. I didn't think I would have an experience as humiliating as when I first misjudged the intentions of men and my own perception, but instead of an audience of half a dozen adolescent boys, this time I was now being told the same thing in front of whoever wanted to click on a YouTube link. I was trapped between the two of them, waiting for the giant spiders to start marching down the avenue because surely I was in a nightmare.

 

My body went cold, numb and empty but my mind was a roiling pit of anger as I watched him speak and smile and wave his hands about as he was asked more questions about himself and the film he was there to promote and the one he was beginning, the one I gave him.

 

_I'm no problem or terrible idea and nothing to laugh at. You pull at my strings to see if I dance but you're the puppet! You can speak about art all you want, but all you're doing is filling in space on a stage I created! You want to find your thousands of truths but you can only choose from the ones I've given you. You read the words off a page but I'm the one who created them from the ether. One character is all you have to worry about, but I had to cry and laugh and rage as all of them and make them all fit together. They existed before you and they will after. Your vision... your vision is a 3-d version of mine. Tell me what you added that I hadn't created first. You color in the lines I drew and you call yourself Van Gogh and you get to be the star because you have fucking razor's edge cheekbones and virescent eyes and a damn sonorous voice. I'm a star dammit. I am worthy of respect if nothing else from you._

 

Some part of my brain alerted me to the silence. I tuned back in to find the men staring at me. “What was it?”

 

“Speaking of the stage, I've heard your play, _Forsaking All Others_ , is going into production in the spring. How exciting is that to have a new medium to tackle?”

 

“Is it?” interrupted Tom. “Why didn't you tell me?”

 

“It must be more proof that we're not as close as people like to think we are.” It was my turn to smile and laugh. I could act when I had to. “I'm not going to be as involved. Knowing how the rabbit is pulled out of the hat is losing its charm for me. I think I'm going to build a garret and lock myself in for the next year or so.”

 

“But you're still coming to Charlotte for filming?” asked Tom, once again deciding in front of a rolling camera was a perfectly fine place to have a one-on-one conversation. “You have to. You have a role.”

 

“Well yes, of course. Besides that.”

 

I had no idea what he was talking about. We had idly gone over where I might have my Hitchcock moment- a nurse in the hospital, a reporter at a press conference, a passenger on a train, but I hadn't taken it seriously and certainly nothing had been settled.

 

“As who?” asked Arthur, trying to remain part of the discussion since it had solidly turned from his accomplishments to ours.

 

“Tara. The main character's, my character's wife,” answered Tom. “It's a small part but it's crucial.”

 

Arthur frowned and looked over at me. He had read the book. It wasn't even a part at all. I had joked once that Tom needed photos of happier times for Oliver's home and we could play dress-up and take a few pictures of the life he had before- wedding shots, vacations, kids. Tom had twitched at the word “wife” and I hadn't brought it up again. By saying it was crucial, that proved to me he thought this was all a joke.

 

“So you two are playing house?” asked the reporter, trying desperately for a scoop.

 

“Just where I wonder what I was thinking and begin to resent him...”

 

“...and we argue and never have sex,” added Tom.

 

“Yeah, all that we've got down.”

 

“Sounds great, can't wait to see it. Thank you all so much for stopping by.”

 

The videographer lowered his camera and the interviewer shook our hands. I could see Mandy staring at us, annoyed we had gone over schedule and behind Tom I could see his assistant with the same expression as his charge had wandered off unannounced.

 

“This is the last big event, do you think you could remember we're here to promote _our_ film?” asked Arthur, stepping closer to look up at me angrily.

 

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let it stray.” This was also his big break after many years. Guilt latched on to me. “When Tom came over, I lost control.”

 

“You don't have to tell me, Josie. In Tribeca, you disappeared the minute he walked in the door. You let him sweep you away in Cannes and you never came back. In Seattle we had that interview you backed out of because you had to print out a new draft for him. You missed a whole day in Traverse City. I know you want to move on but you are still committed to this film. If you want to use your personal life to play up the next project, fine, but this one has my name on it too, and I want to be taken seriously.”

 

There was nothing I could say to fight back. It was almost all true. “The last one wasn't Tom's fault. The kid was having a panic attack over moving into the dorm. I couldn't leave her.”

 

“In any case, if you can't do the work, maybe you should just stick to writing and leave everything else to those who can.”

 

He walked off and met up with Mandy. Tom came closer, bashful smile and dopey eyes, trying to act like he hadn't overheard. “This isn't how I planned the night to begin. Can we find a time to talk later? I need to properly apologize for last time.”

 

This is why I would swat away hope whenever it came buzzing by. “What else is there to talk about now?” I asked his shoes. “You didn't have another take, Tom. That was your truth of the moment and I don't think I have anything left to say to you.”

 

“Darling, this isn't you. Don't turn all coy on me.” He reached out his hand and I turned away from his touch and his universal endearment. I was just one of the crowd, nothing unique about me, just a joke and a problem to be avoided. “I'd rather be able to look in your eyes when I speak, but at least let me call you later.”

 

“No, Tom. Since we're so honest with each other, let me say you don't know me. Stop talking. I wouldn't want to misread anything. That would be a terrible idea.”

 

“Josie, we need to go.”

 

“Tom, really now.”

 

Mandy led Arthur and me to the door as Tom was herded along the far wall. I went my way and he went his. It was going to happen eventually, why not tonight?

 

*-*-*


	8. Charlotte, North Carolina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filming begins on The Second Samaritan. Lines get blurred between fact and fiction.

__

_Charlotte, North Carolina, USA_

__

_298 square miles, population 775,202, temp in October- 59.8oF_

__

_“The Queen City”_

__

_“The Gem of the South”_

“Josie dearest, tomorrow is our wedding day,” Tom said when I answered the phone. “Everything's set up at the house. Wardrobe and makeup will be there. We have all day to record our life together.”

 

“I am so excited I can't even speak.” I replied flatly. “If I didn't show up, that would cost a lot of money, wouldn't it?”

 

“It would throw off the whole production. I need to keep on schedule.”

 

“Then I guess I'll see you tomorrow.”

 

“I'll send a car,” he offered. “Where are you staying again?”

 

“You gave me the address. I can drive.” I needed a getaway vehicle, so I had driven down to Charlotte myself a few days earlier. I packed up the passenger seat with nostalgic junk food. I played radio roulette and sang loudly with whatever it landed on. I sped through the shell of a city that was Richmond, searched to see if the totem pole sign for the Thunderbird Motel was still standing around Asheville, stopped in at Lexington Barbecue, and drove past the house in Kannapolis where my great-grandmother used to live with the luxury of a swing hanging from each end of her front porch.

 

“I'm eager to see you again,” Tom said. “It's been ages since we've had a whole day together.”

 

“I'll be there at five.”

 

I had been avoiding the set and I would have blown off the idea of this torturous shoot if the producers weren't completely in love with the idea of us- their two collaborators, seemingly inseparable but not romantic. Our video clip from Toronto, which flattened me, had delighted them. Interviews and photo spreads and other promotion had already been booked while filming was just starting. There were still months to go before this could be left to die.

 

It was dark and cold and damp outside when I found the house. I was pretty sure I had the right place. Light was streaming from every window and the muffled sound of the activity of dozens of people filtered out into the early morning air. The lots were spaced far enough apart that it probably wasn't disturbing the neighbors, but I wouldn't want to live there during these weeks. I parked along the curb across the street and walked up the crowded drive to the side door as directed in my notes.

 

The kitchen was a makeshift control room. Papers were piled on counters and whiteboards were pinned against the wall. Tom was hunched over the butcherblock island, making large slashes with a pen on a sheet of paper. He looked up as the screen door squeaked closed behind me. A look of relief passed over his face and he wound his way around the clutter to wrap me in his arms and give me a kiss that missed my cheek and landed below my ear. “I was afraid you wouldn't come,” he whispered.

 

I looked up into his eyes and answered in a low voice, “No matter how little you think of me personally, I hate that you'd really believe I'd do such a thing.”

 

Oh, this day was going to go so well.

 

“So are we still keeping to the most recent timetable you sent?” I asked, detaching myself and approaching the table to look over the schedule. “We're photographing all the big moments, right? Dates, proposal, wedding, kids?”

 

“Oliver's sentimental and he's keeping all these things static in the house as if all three of them are going to walk right back in at any moment. But of course, you know all this. I don't know why I'm explaining your world to you. I guess I'm a little nervous. The children are going to be the primary focus, but you're in there too.”

 

“You mean Tara. I'm me, she's her. Let's keep them separate, please?” I was going to need some semblance of distance to make it through this.

 

“Yes, of course,” answered Tom. “You wrote they met at a party in a bar. We've got a scene set downstairs. I hope I've got it right.”

 

“Remember in Berlin, when you mistranslated the German because you think you know everything and we all ended up...”

 

“Oh, like that?” He smiled at the memory.

 

“Exactly like that. So we need to look like we've been drinking, which luckily is what I look like anyway when you wake me up at four a.m., but that means you're wearing the smudged eyeliner too.”

 

“Really? Oliver would do that?”

 

I was glad to know all our hours of character and plot discussion had been well spent. “Oliver was different then. He still has his sense of fun but it's just been suspended now, like everything else.”

 

“I see. Let's get started.” Tom led the way to the makeshift makeup room and sat down. Being near him was difficult. I wanted everything to be comfortable and easy again. It pinched at my heart that happy moments between us now had to be faked.

 

He turned his head to look up at me. “Could you do it, just like last time?”

 

“Last time was in the back of a German nightclub at one in the morning. I'm so grateful I didn't blind you.” I looked over at the makeup artists who shrugged their shoulders. “What do you think? Copper or navy to frame these gorgeous eyes?”

 

One of them opened up her supply box and showed me what she had available. “If it's not a close-up, I would go darker. The copper might blend in too much.”

 

“I agree.” I took the pencil she handed me and turned to the chair. “It will only take a minute, but if I mess it up, I'm turning you over to the professionals.”

 

“I trust you,” he said. The word made me shudder. Yes, emphasize again how I am the horrible person who doesn't trust you, as if I don't have reasons.

 

“There's your first mistake,” I answered and leaned in over him. The work maybe could have been done without me quite so close, or resting my hand on his cheek as I drew a bold line above his upper lashes, fanning out to the thinnest point and then smudging it all with a pass of my thumb. I drew lighter on the lower lid, well aware I was in reach of his soft, lying lips and breathing into his ear.

 

Tom's arm reached out and his hand wrapped around my thigh. Certain I had done something wrong, I jumped back. “Did I hurt you?”

 

“What?” Tom blinked and looked up. “Sorry, my mind was drifting.” His arm dropped and his hand fell loosely in his lap. “Carry on.”

 

When I was done, I let the real artists look it over, then waited for his opinion. “There you go. You are one beautiful raccoon.”

 

“Interesting,” he said at last.

 

“You didn't have to go along with it,” I said defensively, as I sat down for my turn to be prettied up. “It was just an idea.”

 

“Do you like it? Would you come and talk to me at a party if I looked like this?”

 

“Never in a million years.” He frowned at my answer. “I would never approach someone like you. If you hadn't introduced yourself to me, we wouldn't be here right now, but we're not talking about us. Tara wouldn't hesitate to find a way to meet Oliver because they're equals.”

 

“You don't see us as equals?”

 

“I did once, but now... now, I have to go and get changed for the photo.” I leapt from my seat as soon as I saw open air.

 

In the basement, there was a small bar set up, bottles on the shelf and everything. I thought back to our hidden moments in Tribeca. I knew then nothing would come of all this, so why was I letting it weigh me down now? What business did I have thinking one kiss meant anything to a man like him? It was more my fault for being naïve than his for simply being who he was.

 

“What do you think?” asked Tom as he walked in. “Will it do?”

 

“No.”

 

The room went quiet. Tom's brow furrowed. “What is it?”

 

“You can't wear that.” He hadn't changed out of his jeans and white button-down. “This is your uniform. Any picture is going to look like every fan encounter posted online. I'm sure you're comfortable and you think you're saving time but I don't want you to be you. Do you understand? Hetty's got a stack of shirts in the wardrobe room, just go change real quick and you can be back in three minutes.”

 

“This is why I needed you here. I overthought everything so much I missed something obvious.”

 

“Don't waste your breath on hollow compliments. Just go.”

 

He bent down and kissed me on the cheek before bounding out of the room. The crew continued with light meters and adjustments, ignoring me. I perched myself on one of the high wooden barstools and waited for his return. I was dressed in a bright yellow thin-strapped sundress and the chill of autumn was leaching through the subterranean walls. I hoped he wouldn't take too long or I wouldn't look much like a carefree party girl out on the town.

 

When Tom returned he was wearing a tight navy t-shirt that stuck to his ribs like grandma's cooking. I had seen the wardrobe room and knew there were plenty of options that couldn't also double as a tourniquet. He was trying to make me uncomfortable, but I wasn't going to let him win.

 

“I like it,” I said. “It'll look good next to me. Just chat me up for a minute and smile for the camera. Should be easy enough.”

 

He grinned and took a seat next to me. “Do you want me to use the accent, too? Get fully into character?”

 

“No, because you're supposed to be seducing me right now and if you start sounding like your dad, it's going to put a weird connection in your head and it's not going to work.”

 

“How can you say we don't know each other?” he asked with a laugh. “Should we have some music?”

 

“Go for it,” I answered.

 

He slung his arm around me and his thumb began to slide back and forth across the bare skin on the back of my shoulder. It took all my effort to remain still.

 

One of the crew responded. “It's not working.”

 

“Damn it,” said Tom, clenching his other hand into a fist.

 

“Don't worry about it, precious,” I replied. “It's just one picture. Surely we can feign that we're being deafened.”

 

“I wanted it to be perfect,” he answered. “You deserve the best and I'm failing.”

 

“You have some interesting ideas on just what you think I deserve. Forgive me if I don't believe you this time either.”

 

I grasped his leg, trying to get into the scenario, and I ended up reaching a little higher than I had planned. Once I realized that was not the contents of his pocket, I tried to retreat, but he placed his free hand on top of mine.

 

“It's getting a little loud. First chance we get, what do you say we get out of here and find some place a little less crowded?”

 

“I thought you'd never ask,” was my reply. “This place plays the worst music. I don't know how I ended up here.”

 

“I'm glad you did though.”

 

I scrunched up my face and leaned in. “What? I'm afraid I couldn't hear you.”

 

He moved closer, trying to keep balance on the rickety stool. His lips again brushed along the edge of my ear. “I said, I'm glad I met you. Hopefully this won't be the last time.”

 

“That all depends on if you know how to use what I've got under my hand.”

 

Tom laughed. As long as I could do that, I could get through the day. The flashes killed my eyes, which couldn't have hurt the authenticity. Tom approved the  
shots taken and we were ready for the next step.

 

“You're smiling at me,” said Tom as the activity moved to breaking down the lights. “Are you still in character?”

 

“No, precious,” I said with a sigh. “It's strictly involuntary, but if we're stuck with each other for the next few months, I suppose there's no point in making it more difficult.”

 

“Is this really a hardship for you?” He raised an eyebrow. What a lucky creature he was to be so used to people wanting to be near him.

 

“I could ask you the same thing, but instead I'll ask what's next? The engagement?”

 

“I think so. No wait, yes, it is. Upstairs, front room.”

 

“Maybe we should have done that one first. Sorry. You're going to scrub all that off your face.” There was no fear of a rejection that had already happened so I ran a finger under one of his eyes and tried to rub some of the color away.

 

“It's not a problem,” he answered, taking my hand and squeezing it gently. “I'll see you there.”

 

Up in the wardrobe room, I pulled a dress from the rack that the costume designer and I had picked out a few days ago. I had wanted to make sure everything was as unlike me as possible- a little extra barrier to keep from forgetting this was all illusion. Once I had changed, my hair was done and my makeup re-set.

 

Tom walked in wearing a suit that fit him like paint. It had to be one of his own. Fuck me, the man was stunning. That was one more reason this shoot was a cruelty- no one was going to believe he'd marry someone like me.

 

“What's wrong?” he asked, rushing over. “What can I do?”

 

The time had already been allocated, the crew and the space. I couldn't let my pout cost the production. “Just had a moment where I realized I would never be as pretty as you, but it's nothing new. I liked this dress when I tried it on two days ago but now, looking at you, anything is going to be lackluster.”

His concern shifted to inquisition. “How did you try it on two days ago? Just how long have you been in town?”

 

I glanced at the makeup artists who decided to slip out the door. “Four days,” I admitted.

 

Tom went to the window and watched the sun begin to rise over the treetops. “You've been here all week and you didn't tell me. You let me believe you just arrived yesterday.”

 

“What does it matter?” I answered. “You expected me here today. I'm here today.”

 

“I thought we were honest with each other if nothing else.”

 

“Yes, and because you were honest with me in front of a camera that I am a potentially terrible idea, an emotional misunderstanding waiting to happen, a broken thing that has no reason not to trust you, I thought I'd stay away until I was needed and remain no longer than necessary.”

 

Tom finally turned to face me. He had to realize he made a very expensive practical joke and it was too late to re-cast. “Josie, that wasn't what I was trying to say.”

 

“When this is all over today, we can go over who meant what when but now I need you to pretend to propose. I am not going to derail this production because of our personal issues. Is everything ready?”

 

“You promise that we'll talk and you won't run off?”

 

I was an adult. I could do that much. “Lock the door if you need to, but I won't go anywhere until we've said everything.”

 

He held out his arm. I took it and he led me downstairs. The front room had been decorated for the holidays- pine garlands, candles, and fairy lights, with a tree in front of the large window, complete with empty wrapped boxes piled at the base. Heavy curtains kept the fledgling sunlight away.

 

“Have you filmed the Christmas scene already?” I asked, feeling a little giddy that I was walking in a room straight out of my imagination. “Did you change some things around so it doesn't look identical?”

 

“It's tomorrow. We'll remove the gifts and make everything a little shabbier, but for today's purpose it's perfect.”

 

“I agree.” I turned around and found him already on one knee. My joy hung on a beat longer before I made myself react professionally.

 

“Tom, we don't have to go that far. It's just a picture or two.”

 

“Indulge me. I want to try it.”

 

I looked down into his earnest face. If he had a process, who was I to say no. Arguing would just prolong this. I sat down on the edge of the couch next to the tree, trying to keep the area to frame small. The cameras began to click and flash.

 

“Josie, I don't believe I've ever properly expressed to you just how much you've come to mean to me. The words you inspire in my head don't always seem to make it to my tongue. When I can't hear your voice or see you smile, the day doesn't feel complete. I don't want to live the rest of my life not knowing when I'm going to be near you again. I try not to plan things but in every vision I have of the future, there's not a one where you're not there. If you feel a fraction of what I do, I would be the most grateful and honored man. Will you marry me?”

 

“Tara,” I replied, knowing I was deflating the moment.

 

“What?” His hopeful smile was replaced by confusion.

 

“You didn't call me Tara. Good thing you weren't recording it.”

 

He looked at the ring in his hand. “Of course, you're right. At least it wasn't a take. So will you say yes?”

 

“I kind of have to, but I must say of the proposals I've received, that was in the top five.” I held out my hand and let him slip the sparkler on my finger- a large round solitaire in yellow gold, beautifully cut but traditional and boring.

 

“Top five?” Tom asked, standing up. “Shall I kiss you? Would that help?”

 

Every cell was screaming yes, but based on how I reacted last time, there was no way I would be able to be professional. He'd lean in, eyelids heavy, lips parted, arms pulling me in close. My heartbeat would quicken and I'd melt to his chest as I waited for that first touch. It would be fairly chaste, a brush of lips, a hand in my hair, but my face would flush and my eyes would lose focus and he'd step away and check the prints before moving on. No, I wasn't going to set myself up for showing that much weakness.

 

“Not necessary. Wrap your arm around me while I hold up the goods.” I pressed my left hand against my chest as I turned to the camera. “Are we making good time?”

 

Tom checked the old man watch on his wrist. I could read it from where I was. “Yes, we're doing just fine.”

 

“So there's a chance we could wrap this up early?”

 

His face fell. “Good god, what else did you plan for today? You said you wouldn't run off.”

 

I had given myself an out. I could make up anything and get out of the talk, but that would do no one any favors. “Relax. Nothing. I'm just not as comfortable in front of the camera as you. The sooner we can stop, the better.”

 

“You're doing fine. I've been watching and you're not as awkward as you like to say you are. Now go put on your dress so we can get married.”

 

Over an hour later, I was deemed fit for human eyes. I stepped out into the back garden feeling like a popsicle stick pushed into a marshmallow. Heavy spider lashes weighed down my eyelids. The edges of the veil tickled my arms as it fluttered in the breeze. Tom was pointing something out to the lighting guys and when he turned to me, he simply stared. Wonderful. It was that bad.

 

Then he moved from behind the lighting set-up and I saw him full-length. No, no, no, you half-Scottish bastard. He was wearing a dress kilt with sharp woolen red plaid pleats, black waistcoat and Prince Charlie jacket with shining silver buttons, ghillie brogues and thin ivory socks on his lean, runner's calves.

 

“What do you think?” I asked, spinning around once he approached. The spindly heels I was given didn't react well to speed and I nearly toppled over. Tom reached out an arm and steadied me.

 

“What do you think?” he parroted. One flimsy compliment wouldn't have killed him.

 

“I'm definitely in character,” I replied. I was not going to comment on his outfit.

 

“Why is that?”

 

“Because this is all not what I'd pick out for myself, but it's so what a woman like Tara would choose. What's our scenario here? I feel like you're going to need a wide shot to get all this skirt in.”

 

“I thought we could dance under the trees here. Everything has seemed so posed so far, I was thinking something a little more candid would give us more of a variety.”

 

“I hope I can handle that. I'm not sure I can find my feet reliably under all of this. Can you gracefully catch me again if I fall over?”

 

“Oh, don't worry. I'll be holding on to you tightly,” he answered.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Wait, you have another ring.” Tom pulled a band out of his jacket pocket and slipped it on my finger. “Now it's official,” he said with a grin.

 

“Do you have one too?”

 

He showed off the wide flash of gold on his own left hand. “Of course.”

 

“You look good tagged. Makes you respectable.”

 

“I didn't look respectable before?”

 

“You look like a birthday wish come true, like the first choice after someone summoned a genie from a magic lamp, too ethereal to have been created from forty-six strands of DNA like any mortal. This tiny bit of metal humanizes you and takes you out of the realm of the unattainable. Someone gets to keep you at the end of the day. You aren't just put on a shelf somewhere.”

 

Tom looked down at me with an incredulous smile. “Sometimes I wonder if you flatter me too much. I'm just a man.”

As if he didn't live off compliments and attention. “But you're not going to tell me to stop, are you?”

 

Tinny speakers began to play “La Vie En Rose.” Satchmo's trumpet had sounded better but it was enough to get us moving. Tom placed his right hand flat at the small of my back and tucked mine against his left shoulder.

 

“No Little Sparrow?” I asked.

 

“She's queued up next. I didn't know how much time we'd need.”

 

“You sentimental bastard.”

 

“Do you want to come back tomorrow and watch some of your script being filmed?” he asked as we wound our way across the temporary flooring.

 

“I can't. It's crap. The words feel wrong. I can't believe people actually say nice things to each other and mean it. I feel like Genevieve should say she knows Oliver will never really give a damn and just walk away forever, but it's fake and fake things are supposed to have happy endings so that the poor suckers who really have to live life can pretend for an hour or two.”

 

“People are happy in real life, dear heart. It is possible. Maybe if you didn't always run away, you'd see that.”

 

“If they're happy, it's never because of me. I know I run away more often than John Grisham's main characters, but a dog who gets kicked too many times stops looking to get petted. If I'm the one who leaves first, then I have some tiny bit of power, I'm not the secret only good enough for dark corners and the backseats of cars. I'll never have to wait for phone calls that never come, for knocks on the door that will never happen because I cut it off first.”

 

“So you're going to deny yourself any happiness?”

 

“It's not happiness if it's hollow. I'd rather sleep alone than wake up looking like a fool. It's too late for me, precious. I was curious to see what it would be like to have the experiences of a real proposal and a wedding- the path not taken and all that. I could show the grandkids one day that for one scene in a film I lived a life with the perfect man and that was the only way I was going to find one- by making him up myself. For once I was the one that got away, even if it was in the context of you humiliating me.”

 

“Why do you consider this humiliation?” His face was all concern, as if he hadn't known.

 

“You should have picked out some model, tall and perfect like you. The pictures would have been great and the audience would have easily seen why it would be so hard for Oliver to let go of her. They won't feel that with me, but you've got your little joke into the film to dig the knife in a little deeper- I'd never date Josie, but I'd marry her.”

 

“You think that's why I did this? To hurt you?”

 

“What else could it be? I said I'd never sleep with you, so you thought kissing me, forcing me to realize my imagination could never top reality, and then embarrassing me on camera would be laugh-out-loud hilarious. Why not throw me in a puffy dress and make me live out a life I'll never have on top of that?”

 

I had kept a smile on my face as we danced. The waving shadows from the tree branches above made it hard to read Tom's expression, but it wasn't a man on the happiest day of his life so I really needed to let this go if we were going to get at least one decent photo.

 

“Look, we're halfway through already,” I said. “The kids will be here soon and who knows how long those shots will take. Right now we need to look content and in love. Let's just fake our way through this moment while the song lasts.” I laid my head against his chest as Edith Piaf began to sing.

 

“You think that little of me?”

 

“I think the world of you and that's why I have to go before you prove me wrong. I don't like being wrong.”

 

“Look up at me.” I had been avoiding that, but he was the director. “Tell me you love me.”

 

Why not? What excuse could I give to keep the final nail out of the coffin? I wasn't me right now. Tara could say to Oliver what I would never say to Tom.

 

“Of course I love you. How else could you make me so miserable?”

 

The look on his face couldn't be real. How could he form tears like that, just to pool at the edges? If it had been me, I would have looked like I walked through a downpour.

 

The song ended and we stepped apart. “Stay here,” he ordered as he left to meet with the photographers.

 

An assistant walked over with a shawl for my shoulders. “Thank you,” I said, “but I'm probably going to just go in and change.”

 

“Can I say something?” she asked.

 

“Sure.” Feedback was always good. I wondered if she had a suggestion for how to improve the shot. We had to have been talking too much.

 

“That looked really real, like maybe we shouldn't have been watching.”

 

“You believed it? I don't look like a comma next to an exclamation point?”

 

“You looked in love.”

 

“Did he?” He must have. He was the actor.

 

“He never took his eyes off you.”

 

That's not what I asked. Tom's eyes weren't on me when he returned. “Follow me,” he said and kept walking.

 

“What now?” I asked as he led the way to the door into the two-car garage. Props filled half the space inside- furniture, toys, lamps, chairs. There were windows high up along the wall, too tall for anyone to see in, but they let in plenty of the early morning sunshine.

 

Tom checked the lock on the door and on the one leading inside the house. “Everyone's on break. We should have some time.” He stood close in front of me, solemn and stern. “I can't do this any longer.”

 

Finally, he was going to release me from this torture. “I told you it wasn't worth it. My cousin was Miss Charlotte, then Miss United States 2014. I could give her a call and she could be here in an hour maybe and you can get everything re-shot. Wardrobe won't like it, but...”

 

“I'm not talking about the damn film. I'm talking about waiting oh so politely for you to take the lead, for you to tell me that you want me. I thought you were being cautious, but you've honestly thought I'd intentionally hurt you? That I would enjoy your pain?”

 

I looked straight into his face. “Well, yes.”

 

This time the tears did fall. “Oh, dearest. How did I do that?”

 

“When I begged you to take me out in Seattle and not only did you refuse but you uninvited me from the meeting the next day. When you told me what I deserved was to be kissed by you every day and then you stormed off and didn't make any effort to see me again before you stepped in front of a camera and laughed at the idea of me and you. The first moment we had afterward, you told me you needed to apologize for the kiss. That doesn't sound to me like a man expecting to hear any words of encouragement. You tell the world I'm a distrustful emotional time bomb and then stage all these intimate scenes for us to act out. How could you not see this as cruelty?”

 

“I was so certain I had never said anything but how much I wanted to be around you and how our time together was never long enough, but clearly my intention did not come across. Do you have any idea how my eyes have taken you in every moment your head turns away? I've become so familiar with your profile, I could trace it blind.”

 

“I've seen you draw. Please don't try.”

 

Tom sighed and it ruffled my hair. “No jokes, please. Just listen. Do you know how many shadowy corners we've walked past? You never noticed me slow down as I consider, maybe this time I'll pull you in and make you take me seriously?”

 

He took the last step between us and wrapped his arms around me. I felt my arms do the same. My concentration was focused on whether I really was hearing these words correctly.

 

Two fingers began to trace along my spine, up from my hips to the back of my neck. “My hands aren't satisfied only holding you close when we dance. They want to discover where your skin is the softest and what sounds you would make as they explore. My fingers, oh what my fingers could do if you gave me permission.”

 

His arms pulled me even closer. “I've grown accustomed to the steady ache and strain when you're near. I swear I might end up with permanent zipper marks. You've heard me talk about love, but I want so much to show you how intently I could worship you.”

 

I could feel his steady ache pressing between us. “I haven't heard you talk about love, just biology. That has nothing to do with me.”

 

“So you're immune to both? I've seen your eyes. Your pupils dilate as you look me over, and you do look me over, imagining and fantasizing. You've licked your lips and let out little sighs when I touch you. I've collected them all as priceless memories. If I tried to kiss you now, you wouldn't stop me.”

 

“No,” I admitted and leaned my head back, ready. He tucked his chin and slowly pressed his lips against mine. When I didn't pull away or say something snarky, he raised his hand to cradle my head and keep it close. The anticipatory flutters in my chest didn't fade as he continued, parting my lips and darting his tongue inside my mouth. I knew in the rational part of my mind the best thing would be to let go of thought and just drift along with this, but the rational part of my mind only has ceremonial power. I pulled away to stare up into his eyes.

 

“You said this was a terrible idea. You said it would end badly.”

“I said generally it was a terrible idea, which means there are instances when it works out, but even if this is the worst idea, I don't care. I want this. I want you.”

 

“Then why didn't you say so?”

 

Tom sat down in an armless wooden kitchen chair and pulled me onto his lap, kissing my shoulders. “I thought I had, but the closest we came to speaking the truth, you accused me of being this unfeeling Casanova who traveled the earth recklessly seducing women by merely existing and I reacted by proving you right. I couldn't unclasp my heart over the phone. Maybe I should have, instead of letting you think the worst. Before I could even see you again, a stranger with a video camera wanted to know what I didn't know myself. What could I say when I was unsure how you'd react? I didn't lie.”

 

“No, but you laughed. You all laughed at me,” That sound was still in the forefront of my memory.

 

“I was trying to downplay the situation. I thought I was walking the line clear enough that you'd know what I meant. I was certain everything was fine until after when you wouldn't even look at me. I had been unsure about you. I did regret that kiss. No, don't look at me like that. I regretted it because it was forceful and rude and wrong. I had no right to demand anything of you and then storm off like a pouting child. I was a cad and a scoundrel and if you chose not to forgive me I'd have completely understood. I wanted to tell you all of that but since you were so cold, I figured I was the one who misread the situation. I told people to do what was necessary to get the page down on that site and I hoped that things hadn't gone so wrong between us that you'd refuse to show up today. I wanted to win you back. I wanted you to see how hard I'd been working to bring your vision to life. I wanted you to smile at me like you used to and sigh when I touched you. I wanted you to see what life could be like if you let me love you.”

 

“That's a lot of wants, but do you mean it? How do I know this isn't a trick? I've heard a lot of lines and they're always delivered so sincerely, but ultimately it didn't matter who was standing in front of them.”

 

He kissed me again, soft and innocent. “All my words and actions are for you, my Josie. Only you.”

 

“I would have just let you go. I was taught it was selfish to keep something someone more deserving might need, and there are millions in line for you. I'm not used to having what I want.”

 

“And what might you want?” he asked with maddening, teasing, intensity in his eyes. “Tell me exactly.”

 

“Words don't exactly seem to be our strong suit, so do you mind if I try something else?”

 

I slid to the floor, which wasn't difficult being enveloped in satin and knelt with my eyes upon his. Each hand grasped an ankle, fingers slowly trailing upward, feeling the muscles and shin bones under the fine gauge of the ivory stockings until I hit the bare flesh at their tops, pressing each leg slowly further apart. I turned my head to lay a kiss at the inside of his left knee, at the soft crease between calf and thigh. I exhaled slowly over where I had pressed my lips and then turned to the other to repeat the action. A ragged sound escaped from Tom and I could see the kilt steepled, giving credence to the theory there was nothing else under there but Englishman. I laid my palms flat on each leg and pulled myself up and forward to meet his mouth. One of his hands reached for the back of my head while the other moved down to his lap.

 

“Don't mess up my hair,” I whispered. “People will know.”

 

“Do you honestly think I give half a damn right now about people? Figure your way out of that dress or I might have to rip it in two and then everyone will certainly know.”

 

I wistfully thought of the half a dozen hotel rooms with down pillows and luxurious sheets we had failed to utilize as I watched the dust dance in the sunbeams. Yards of fabric filled my hands as someone knocked on the outside door. We remained still as if they could sense the room was empty if we were quiet enough.

 

“Tom? Are you in there? The kids are here and the parents are asking to see you.”

 

He looked at me and shook his head sadly. “I'll be right out,” he called.

 

“I shouldn't have wasted our time,” I said as I stood up and straightened my dress.

 

“I wouldn't have altered a thing,” Tom answered. “This is but postponed.” He kissed me again. “Unfortunately, I have a dinner meeting tonight, late. Meet me after?”

 

“I promised my cousin I'd spend the night at her house. I don't know if I can get away.”

 

“We'll find something.”

 

“When?”

 

He sighed. “I have no idea. I have late nights and early days for the next few weeks. If you stayed, we could find a few moments, but not much more than that.”

 

“No,” I answered. “No more stolen moments. I can wait until we can find proper time.”

 

“New York? We have to go up and film the last few scenes, and we're scheduled for that interview and photo spread. It would be the first chance.” He kissed me again. “It's not for three weeks though.”

 

“I can wait, if you really mean it.”

 

“I mean it. Josie, please trust me.”

 

“I don't know. I've had flirtations that lasted for years until I gave in and everything was lost. I don't want this to end, it's the fire that keeps me going.”

 

“It won't be the end I swear, just the start. Maybe you'll have a better opinion of New York this time?”

 

I returned his smile. There was another knock on the outer door and we pulled apart.

 

“I'll see you out there. Good luck with the stage parents.”

 

I left through the inside door before he opened the other. I hurried and got myself unpinned from the froth of the dress, which I had decided wasn't so bad after all, and changed into jeans and a sweater for the birthday party scene.

 

I walked out to find Tom crouched on the ground to try and get somewhat close to the same height as the six-year old boy standing before him. They appeared to be deep in conversation.

 

“Isn't he perfect?” said the woman next to me.

 

“He's a cute kid,” I answered. His little blonde curls were adorable as was the serious expression on his face as he listened to Tom. “They have a strong resemblance.”

 

“I meant Tom, but yes my Connor is something special. Did you know that he sat us down- me and Olivia's mother, and made sure we knew that while these photos were going to show happy times, the end result was going to be that these characters were going to die tragically and while it was fun to have them in a film, to wait until they were older to let them see it, that maybe we should wait ourselves to see it, because while it would happen offscreen, they were still our children and it might be too much for us. He's so thoughtful.”

 

I would have let it slide and let Tom take all the credit, but while the woman was talking to me, she was very slowly working the rings off her left hand. 

“We did have a long discussion about this. It's a very delicate subject and we wanted to make sure that the parents understood just what was involved. I know it evoked very strong emotions in me when I wrote it. Tom knew I wouldn't be happy if this part, as small as it may seem, wasn't handled correctly.”

 

Her face faded from _and just who are you_ as she took in my borrowed jewelry and screen-heavy makeup. “You must be Josie,” she said at last.

 

“That would be me,” I answered.

 

“You look different in person, less glamorous.” Less deserving of Tom is what her expression said.

 

“Well, I am playing the mother of six year-old twins. No one looks their best then.”

 

Tom approached, holding Connor's hand. “Mom, Mister Tom said he knew the Avengers, but that can't be true because the Avengers aren't real.”

 

Tom put on a regretful countenance. “He got me there. The young man is quite intelligent.”

 

The boy's mother looked at him sternly. “I hope you weren't rude to Mister Tom.”

 

“I said he was a liar and liars always get caught in the end.”

 

“I had to agree with him. It's always best to be honest. The most wonderful things come to you that way.” He gave me a wink and I had to turn away to hide my smile.

 

“So do you think you would like to pretend to have a birthday party?” I asked. “I know it's not actually your birthday, but someone told me the presents and the cake were real.”

 

I had Connor's attention then. He led the way as quick as his little legs could carry him over to where a table was set up along the fence with balloons and hats. The other child, the girl Olivia, was already counting the wrapped gifts on the table.

 

We stood behind the children as they sat at the table before two cakes studded with candles. Tom reached for my hand and held it as we leaned over to help them blow out the flickering flames.

 

“I know what I wished for,” said Tom as one of the assistants began to cut the cakes to the delight of the kids.

 

“You can't tell!” shrieked Olivia in a panic. She turned to Tom and gave him a dark look. “It won't come true!”

 

“What if you told someone before you made the wish?” he asked while looking at me. My heart was threatening to crack my ribs.

 

“I guess that's ok,” the little girl decided, her attention back on the stack of gifts.

 

“Why don't you go give your mom a plate of cake and then you can open your presents?” I said.

 

“I hate to feel like I'm bribing them,” said Tom as the kids ran off, “but I had all these Tinkerbell and Avengers things just stacked in a closet at home. Better they have them.”

 

“It was nice of you to do that,” I answered, watching them rip into the cake like little piranhas. “I hope you saved some for your own kids.”

 

“Yes, of course.” He was watching them as well. “We won't let them act like that, will we?”

 

“Are you implying what I think you are?”

 

“I'm not implying anything. I'm saying it straight out. I hope our children are better behaved.”

 

I was wrong. This day was going a lot differently than I had expected. I wasn't sure if I had ever seen him this relaxed. The stress that had been keeping him tense all morning had vanished and he answered every question and solved every problem that popped up with an ease that I had never seen.

 

That ease did falter though when two squalling and squirming infants were placed into his arms for the final shots of the day. Terror was the best word I could find for his expression.

 

“I can't stand like this,” he said. “I'm going to drop one, I just know it. Find me a chair please?”

 

“They're swaddled up pretty tight, I think you can handle it,” I answered. “But remember this moment before the next time you make a casual quip about kids.”

 

It was a smart move to save these pictures for the end of the day. Makeup didn't have to work so hard to paint on the dark circles under our eyes and the weariness came through.

 

“I am so glad to be done with all of this,” I said, once the last flash burst and we sat in the front room to look over all of the photos on a tablet screen.

 

“Those should fill up the room nicely,” he said. “What do you think?”

 

“Perfectly fine for a twenty-second tracking shot.”

 

Tom handed the tablet back to the photographer. The assistants began packing up the lights and wires.

 

“It wasn't so bad, was it? You didn't mind the attention, did you?”

 

“It seemed to pick up about halfway through,” I answered with a smile. “I was really liking the attention after that.”

 

“I am but in your shade darling. If I could make you see that, then I was successful.” We were sitting close on the couch and I wanted to lean back and have his head rest on my shoulder, but there were too many people walking in and out so I made sure to keep myself perched on the edge instead.

 

“So we've lived a whole life in a day,” I said. “Isn't that the romantic ideal?”

 

“I suppose it is.”

 

“What did you think of our alternate universe?”

 

“A life with you looks pretty grand indeed.”

 

The comment should have pleased me, but there was something about it tugging at the back of my head. “But this is before all the tragedy. She's going to leave him and he's going to be a wreck of a man.”

 

His eyebrow raised.

 

“Remember, the happily ever after isn't with Tara,” I continued. “Oliver lets go of all of this to start over for Alma and Genevieve.”

 

“Yes. Of course.”

 

“You're not giving me much faith in your directorial abilities if you can't remember what story you're telling, love. It's not all parties and smiles.”

 

“What's bothering you? There's something you want to say.”

 

I realized why Tom's optimism had thrown me off. We had documented only the happy times and God knows those are few and far between. If that's all he focused on, that wasn't the whole story.

 

“It's easy to think everything's grand when we aren't filming police interviews, coming home to a quiet house after the funeral, separate bedrooms and arguments, so many arguments. This isn't real life, this isn't even real life for these characters. I lived Tara and Oliver's relationship as I typed them out. All of it's still in my head. You only have what I've given you and maybe that's why the picture's incomplete. I couldn't hold that against you if it's my failing, but the glamour is disappearing for me.”

 

“Should we film some of that? You're here. If there's one thing you can do flawlessly, it's argue with me.”

 

Could I do more? Did I want to? “Precious, the script is good as is. It's just me overthinking. I'm sure you've got all the days as booked as they could be. There's no time.”

 

“I keep thinking of things that could be changed, too. I always wonder if each scene couldn't be better.”

 

“If you keep fiddling with it, it'll never be done. The last draft was solid, everyone thinks it's good. Stick to it. I'll argue with you all you want on your own time.”

 

“What I want is to kiss you.”

 

I looked for anyone who could have overheard him. “This isn't a good place.”

 

“Shouldn't we be changing out of these clothes?”

 

That was an idea. “Can you fit two people into that closet?”

 

“Let's find out.”

 

No one was in the wardrobe room when we cautiously slipped in. Tom opened the door to the walk-in closet/changing room and pulled me in after him.

 

“The light?” I asked.

 

“Leave it off.”

 

I was getting used to being held in close as he dipped his head to kiss me, not just once but a dozen fleeting pulls at my lips before moving to my ear and down my neck. Nothing in the world existed beyond that sensation, my mind was a blank slate as dark and empty as the room, the only focus the contact between us.

 

My hands reached to untuck his shirt from his waistband. Tom let go of me long enough to let the shirt over his head and onto the floor. At last, I was able to touch him directly, his skin still holding a slight chill from our time outdoors. It was everything I had hoped for.

 

Tom slid his fingers around and down my collar to find the buttons, pulling at each side to tug them free. At last, the final one gave way and I could shake it free from my shoulders. My fingers hooked into his belt loops to keep his hips tight above mine. He bent his head low and his lips were on the base of my throat. His hands moved up and over my breasts to slide behind my back and fumble for the clasps of my bra.

 

“No,” I managed to gather enough breath to say. “That's mine. It stays on.”

 

“Three weeks is a long time. There's a lot more space in here than I had thought.”

 

“No it isn't and I am not compromising. We're going to do this right or not at all.”

 

The outer door creaked and we heard footsteps cross the room. There was no lock on the closet. If they were to turn the handle, we'd be found out, half-dressed and tousled and flushed.

 

“I'll go out first,” I whispered into his ear. “I'll cause a distraction so you can escape, then I'm going to head on over to my cousin's place. Call me when you're done for the day.”

 

“Josie, wait. There's something else...”

 

I could hear the movement outside slowly moving closer. There was no time to wait. I switched on the light, gave him one last kiss, slid my top off the hanger and pulled it on, and gathered up the fallen clothing. I shut the door behind me and smiled at the wardrobe assistant.

 

“I'm sorry it took me so long. I'm sure you want to go home.”

 

“I still have to sort everything before I can leave. You're not holding me back.”

 

I realized that there was a flash of red in my hand. I had picked up Tom's shirt as well. I twisted my wrist and dropped the whole stack into the basket by the door.

 

I pulled the rings off my finger. Even though they weren't my style, it felt nice to have them for the day. My hand seemed bare and incomplete without them and just the temporary indentations in my skin to show they were ever there.

 

“I've got just about everything put back. These should be the last thing. Didn't they go with the props? Where is that?”

 

I followed her out of the room and into the smaller one down the hall. She pulled a bound logbook off the built-in shelf above rows of boxes. I dropped the jewelry into her outstretched hand. She picked up the band and put it back into a velvet box but left the diamond ring lying in her open palm as if it were a piece of used chewing gum.

 

“Is there something wrong?” I asked.

 

“It's not ours.” She held up the checklist with her other hand.

 

“Well, it's not mine. There has to be some mistake. I can't keep it. Make a note and I'm sure it'll get resolved.”

 

“I don't know...”

 

I felt bad. She clearly wasn't in a position to take initiative, but it was a clerical error and I didn't want to spend any more time arguing. “It's better to have something extra than to have something missing, right?”

 

She shrugged her shoulders with her hand still held out in front of her.

 

“I'll let Tom know. You talk to your supervisor. We'll get it cleared up.”

 

Finally the girl closed her fingers around her palm and turned to the box of accessories.

 

I thought I'd be exhausted after hours of standing around and letting people take pictures of me, but I was full of nervous energy. The sun was long gone, but I felt there was still much to be done with the day. By the time I made my way through the overgrowth around the dark unpaved road to the hidden oasis of my cousin's house, I was wondering if I'd been too hasty to postpone my next reunion with Tom.

 

I could hear the lap of the large pond against the shore as the wind hit the water, the rustle of dry leaves still on the trees, the crunch of gravel under dog feet, and the buzz of my phone in my pocket.

 

“Hello, precious.”

 

“I'm finally away and on my way to the meeting. Did you get to where you needed to be?”

 

“I just got out of the car.” I thought about offering to turn back around when I heard him yawn, loud and long into the phone.

 

“Good,” he said. “Tell me again that three weeks isn't a long time.”

 

“It is,” I confessed. “But the time will pass and we'll be in New York before you know it.”

 

*-*-*


	9. New York City, New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be careful what you wish for.

__

_New York City, New York_

__

_“The City That Never Sleeps”_

A tree had fallen on the tracks causing a delay to the Northeast Regional coming up on two hours. Even though Tom assured me that it was common for celebrities to run late when I texted him in a panic, I was no celebrity, I was a person of my word, and I felt sick. We were so close- past Philadelphia, almost to Newark. I should have been there with time to spare, enough time to throw my bags in my hotel room and wrap myself up in Tom's arms and whisper endearments and steal kisses before the workday started. All of that wasn't possible now and I was cutting into the journalist's appointment window for our interview.

 

The phone began to ring and I answered without looking at the screen.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Mom? Are you busy?”

 

“Not at all. I'm stuck on the train somewhere in New Jersey. What's up?”

 

“Is there something I should know?”

 

I didn't like where this was going. “About what?”

 

“I've been getting texts and emails all morning about this picture going around. I'm sending it to you right now.”

 

“You know I haven't figured out how to look at emails and still use the phone,” I answered. “Could you tell me what it is? If you're comfortable describing it, of course.” Had someone seen us in the garage after all? The door leading into the house hadn't been locked when I used it and it couldn't have been locked from our side anyway. I knew there were definite moments I would have missed the creak of a hinge.

 

“Eww, now I really don't want to know what you do away from home. It's just you and Tom in a wedding picture. I think you look weird in it.”

 

I let out my bated breath. “Oh that's just from the shoot. I told you about that. It's nothing.”

 

“Supposedly it's a big deal online, along with some video. I haven't watched it, but six different people have sent it to me.”

 

I didn't remember there being any video that day, but I could be wrong. The phone beeped in my ear and I pulled it away to see I had another call.

 

“Honey, I have to go. Send it to me and I'll watch it. Tom's calling and he might be telling me we have to reschedule. I'll talk to you tonight.”

 

“No, I know you haven't seen him in a while. Call me whenever you get home.”

 

“Thanks. Love ya.”

 

I pressed the button to switch over and could immediately hear the sounds of a busy cafe. “Tom?”

 

“Josie dearest, are you still delayed?”

 

“I'm afraid so, precious. I am so sorry about this. I should have taken the earlier train.”

 

"What's done is done, darling. No need to apologize. I've been talking quite a bit myself already, but I think Marc here is tiring of me and your brevity might be refreshing to him. We were wondering if you didn't mind if we could just add you in over the phone. It's not ideal, I know, but it would be a better use of the time, don't you think?"

 

"That's fine with me. Am I on speaker now?"

 

"No, it's just me right now."

 

"Good. Let's get this interview done because the sooner I get you alone the better. I couldn't sleep at all last night after our last phone call. I had to throw off my blankets I got so overheated, but that wasn't enough so I kicked off the sheets. That still didn't help so then I took off my shirt, but then..." I felt the passenger in the seat behind me lean forward. “Well, you can imagine.”

 

"Oh I have and I will," he answered. "You must tell me more once you're here. Now let's patch in Marc."

"Hello Josie,” said a very young voice. “Nice to speak to you. Like Tom said, we've already been chatting but now I'd love to hear your thoughts on this collaboration. He's had nothing but praise for you and the whole experience.”

 

“That's very generous of him,” I answered. “A lot of people pulled together, I was only a small part.”

 

“But there was no studio backing at first, so it had to be one of you who first had the idea, correct?"

 

"It was all Tom. He approached me back in January and since the world is in love with him, it didn't take long to get it all rolling."

"She's being too modest," Tom added in. "I simply presented my desire to direct if she was interested in adapting the book to her and after that, we both worked together. It was just as much her charm as mine to get the producers and studio on board. I wanted a challenge for my first effort and I thought this was the perfect fit."

 

“I couldn't turn down an excuse to work with Tom. He could have told me it was going to be done with puppets speaking German and I would have okayed it.”

 

The woman in the seat across the aisle smiled politely and turned her head away quickly. Please, don't let that be the quote anyone remembers. Tom better had come up with some poetry to distract from my embarrassing contributions.

 

"What was it like to have the writer working so close with you, Tom? Did she directly influence the choices you made?"

 

“I found it tremendously helpful in being able to delve into the backstory of the characters. Most of history is in the little days, the simple passage of time, the gradual connections. I'm used to doing a lot of the creation myself- it's not like you can go ask Shakespeare how to approach a scene. In the more improvisational films I've done, I've had to determine the character and know in a moment how he'd react. Then there are the historical figures who had very strict and clear histories and ways about them it was important to stay true to. Being the director on this as well, I was the final arbiter of how the scene should be played. Josie spoiled me letting me ask her dozens of questions, and I loved when she fought back and set limits, saying firmly- no Oliver wouldn't do this, Genevieve wouldn't react like that. It was a new experience, and I loved it.”

 

"Did that bother you, Josie? Tom always asking questions, but ultimately making the final decisions unlike the fifty-fifty partnership you had on your last film? Were there any parts of the collaboration that were less than ideal? Any negatives to your partnership?"

"There were some bouts of miscommunication that were frustrating, but that was our own fault. We assumed a lot when we should have asked outright, but things worked out."

 

"Tom?"

I could just see him absent-mindlessly kneading the skin at his Adam's apple, stretching the collar of his shirt before he spoke. If I had been there, I knew I would have stared possessively and it would have been a struggle to keep my hands to myself.

 

"I have nothing to add. That was how I saw it as well. I could have done with more time but Josie has her own career to attend to. I was grateful for every moment and for her agreeing to be in the film."

 

"Yes, you had mentioned that before. Josie, what was it like to know you were only going to be in as a series of photographs?"

“That's all I wanted,” I answered. “Just a little screen time to caress the old ego.”

 

“She didn't like it,” added Tom. “You can't tell from the finished product but she was very uncomfortable. She would have done some things differently, I know. As beautiful as those wedding shots came out, I know she hated the dress and the ring.”

 

Did he have to be so honest? I had at least tried to be diplomatic in my responses. This was supposed to be a positive promotion of the film, but one couldn't contain Thomas the Frank Engine. “Why do you think I didn't like the ring?”

 

“You looked at it once. If it pleased you, I think it would have caught your attention more.”

 

I waited for Marc, the actual journalist, to ask a question. “Was there something wrong with it?” was all he gave me.

 

“I have to admit that I like the idea of diamonds better than diamonds themselves. I'm not graceful enough to have something valuable on my hand. I'd never feel comfortable. You should have seen it. If it was real, I could only imagine how much Unicef could do with that kind of money. It had to be months worth of food and who knows what else, just for some tiny rock set in a soft metal. That's a disaster waiting to happen. If a man was determined to spend an obscene amount of money on me, I'd prefer something more practical- a vintage Jaguar in British racing green. The XK150s are a little too pricey, but I wouldn't turn down an E-Type or an MK2 if it was true love.”

 

“It was real,” said Tom. There was laughter in his voice, but mixed with something else I couldn't place, probably disbelief that I hadn't noticed, mocking the country mouse once more.

 

“What? Please tell me you're joking. Why the hell would you let me wear it? I was running everywhere and changing and swinging little kids around all day.”

 

“You looked good tagged,” he said with a chuckle. “Other men know to look elsewhere. You're someone's happily ever after.”

 

“So what did you think of the experience, Tom?” asked Marc.

 

"I thought she was just what was needed, a break from acting and just real love. It was one of my favourite days. It was good practice for the real thing."

 

“Oh!” I felt a physical jolt that was more than the train beginning to move. That was a joke, right? Marc wasn't commenting on it. Just what had Tom been talking about before they invited me into the conversation?

 

"So any plans to collaborate again professionally?"

 

The word professionally hung in the air. I decided to continue on as if I noticed none of this. "Well, I have begun a script with him in mind. We'll see if he likes it. I can shop it around if he doesn't."

 

"You started it?” asked Tom. “Fantastic. How far along have you gotten? Did you bring it with you? I want to see."

 

My vanity didn't mind his enthusiasm, but I hadn't planned on this being a working holiday. "Actually, no. I didn't think I'd have time while I was in town. I'll have to send it to you."

 

"But you'll be together soon, right?” asked Marc. “Plenty of time to work on it then."

 

"I hadn't planned on co-writing," I said, unsure where this line of questioning was going. "Filming just wrapped last night and then comes the editing. I think Tom has enough to do for right now without reading over my shoulder."

 

"I'm sorry. I meant in the spring when he's performing in DC."

 

Excuse me, what?

 

"It will keep until then," I answered as calmly as I could. “I always appreciate his input.”

"Tom went on for quite a while about it earlier- performing onstage again in a new space, exploring a different city with your help, the peace of being able to be together without being pulled in three different directions. I guess things have changed since the denials of a romantic relationship you both gave in Toronto.”

 

For once Tom had nothing to say. I waited to hear his voice cut in to explain but there was nothing but the clatter of dishes and the chatter of others through the line. Again I was made to speak with confidence about something I knew nothing about. My visions of our idyllic getaway lost some of their certain clarity.

 

“As the poet Mercer once said, When an irresistible force such as you, meets an old immovable object like me, you can bet as sure as you live, somethin's gotta give. I assume Tom has spoken on that as well.”

 

“He did,” answered Marc. “It was quite beautiful.”

 

“I'm sure it was. Then I don't need to add anything else. In fact, now that we're finally moving here, I really should hang up and get myself together. Are there any more questions about the film?”

 

“No,” answered Marc. “I think I have enough. If I need anything else, I can contact you. Thank you for your time, Josie.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Tom's voice came louder into my ear. “Darling, it's just me now. I'm going to meet you at the train station and we can go to the studio together.”

 

“Is it a long trip?” I asked.

 

“It shouldn't be.”

 

“Too bad, because I think you have a lot to explain.”

 

With the call ended, I pulled up my email and found the files I had been sent. I had seen the whole series of shots from that day, and the one that had made it out into the world wasn't the one Tom had finally selected. This one had to have been when I had been arguing about the cruelty of the situation. His face was defensive and mine was all hurt. Now I was very curious. There was no way the producers leaked this photo. The subject line of the next message made me even more wary- Wait Til You're Alone to Watch This. As thoughtful as the kid may have been trying to be, this only made me want to press play faster. I turned the sound to mute just in case and waited for the clip to load, but the screen remained black except for the spinning circle telling me to just be patient. It made me dizzy, so I shut it off. As soon as I could get a decent signal, I was going to try again no matter who was around.

 

Tom bounded forward like an unleashed greyhound to enclose me in a hug and kiss my cheek as soon as I reached the main floor of the station. I reveled in the feel of his arms around me and shut my brain off for a blissful moment. I had been wrong- three weeks had flown by.

 

“Dearest, darling, angel,” he murmured .

 

“I have a name, you know.”

 

“Oh, I know, Josie, and I'm going to be whispering it in your ear as your head is cradled on a soft down pillow before the sun sets.”

 

No, I couldn't drift away with that vision, as I had imagined so many similar scenarios over the last few weeks. I needed my questions answered.

 

“You're not going to distract me, sir.”

 

“Oh, _sir_. I like it. You can call me that in return.”

 

“Stop it right now, Tom. What were you thinking, telling the writer about us?”

 

“I'm sorry, I couldn't resist.”

 

“If this is a joke, or a publicity stunt, I will never forgive you.”

 

He pulled back to stare into my eyes and I hoped he could see the confusion and wariness there.

 

“Did I do this wrong? I didn't think we were a secret.”

 

“A heads-up first would have been nice. You know he's not going to wait for the print edition. I can bet that was posted on the Internet five minutes ago, just like the photo and whatever's on that video.”

 

We had begun to walk toward the exit, but as I spoke the arm slung over my shoulder tensed and his step faltered. “You haven't watched the video?”

 

“No, I haven't but I will as soon as we're done or you could tell me what's in it.”

 

“People trying to make something out of nothing. It's not worth your time. Now would you like me to tell you about the plans for DC?”

 

“Um, yes, plus anything else that directly affects me and my life.”

 

We stepped outside into the bright sunshine. It was warm enough, but when the wind blew, it was icy. “The queue for the taxis is ridiculous. I know we could just go a block to find a free one, but do you mind if we walk? I feel much better out in the air and we should still be at the set right on time.”

 

“Stop and look at me, Tom. I am carrying three bags. I know we can't stop at the hotel first, but do I want to walk a couple miles dragging them?”

 

He held out his hands. “Here. Give them to me.” He pulled one bag onto his shoulder and took the handle of my wheeled case. He held out his free hand for me to hold. “This way.”

 

We turned to the right, away from the station and he continued speaking. “Too bad we're here before all the Christmas decorations. That would be a sight.”

 

“Tom, stay on topic.”

 

“Everything was just finalized yesterday morning. I know this always gets me into trouble, but I wanted to tell you in person. If you hadn't been delayed, you would have known before the interview, but since it was just the two of us just staring and waiting for you at the cafe, I had to say something when he began to ask questions about what I was going to do next.”

 

“Ok, fine. You don't know when to shut up. I certainly know that. What are the details?”

 

He lit up, like he always did when he spoke about the theatre, and I knew better than to interrupt. “It's a two month run of The Seagull at the Kennedy Center with a month of rehearsal time beforehand, starting in March. I can't stretch it any more than that because I need to be in Los Angeles for a month beginning first of July.” He paused and turned to me, the wind teasing his curls up and about. “I was hoping if this little experiment in domesticity went well, you'd want to come with me for that.”

 

“You were expecting to stay at my house for these three months? How did you know I was going to be there that long? I might have made plans of my own.”

 

“But your play is starting around the same time. You need to be in town. When I saw this opportunity, I knew it would be perfect.”

 

“And I said I wasn't going to be involved. What if I had rented out a cabin in the Canadian Rockies to commune with nature and learn the ways of the mountain goat?” I paused. “This was your big surprise, wasn't it?”

 

Tom grinned. “Yes. I said I had something I couldn't wait to tell you. What did you think it was?”

 

“I don't know, something less big, like you found a way for us to have sex at the top of the Statue of Liberty or something.”

 

He raised his eyebrow at me. “You think that's an easier accomplishment than signing on to a play in a major city?”

 

“I don't know. I don't think any doors are closed to you. If you asked to walk into the vault at Tiffany's, they'd ask you if you wanted a cup of tea as well.”

 

“You do need a new ring.” He held up my hand and studied it.

 

“You quit that right now. That was a bad example. I wasn't thinking. Three weeks ago we thought we hated each other, so you can't talk so casually about things like love and moving in and rings. It's making my throat constrict and my eye twitch.”

 

“I jumped too far ahead? You said you liked impulsive and romantic.”

 

“Impulsive and romantic is a kiss in the rain, a midnight knock on the door, flowers on a Wednesday. This is confessing an emotion and promising a commitment in front of the world. Tom, do you honestly love me?”

 

“Of course I do. Whoever loved that loved not at first sight?”

 

“Ten months ago?” _And when did you love him?_ asked a voice in my head that needed to shut up.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Any time in those ten months did you think of telling me that?”

 

“Every day,” he said proudly.

 

“And you picked today? Why?”

 

“This was just the first day you were paying attention.” He dropped another kiss on my cheek. “Why don't you believe me? You didn't seem to have a problem in Charlotte.”

 

“Let me think. Someone who can pull the range of human emotion from the air on command tells a reporter that he loves me before he tells me- something that I have never inspired in a man's heart before, and don't say you did already because you didn't, not directly. Why wouldn't I be suspicious?”

 

“I've pursued you from the start. I'm the one who always has to seek you out. You're the one who runs off, who jokes when I try to speak my heart. Every quiet moment has passed by you. Even after our last meeting, you've felt wary. I thought it was time to be loud.”

 

“You do realize that this is all you're going to be asked about, we're going to be asked about, for the next six months, maybe a year. You just took the focus off the story. The casual person isn't going to give a damn about the film- all your work, all my work. They'll only want to see the movie where Tom lost his mind. All your effort to give authenticity and you've just spit on it in favor of a cheap sex-fueled gimmick.”

 

“Who said anything about sex? I said I wanted to marry you.”

 

“Funny.”

 

We stopped at the end of a block and waited for the light to change. “What if there's nothing to announce? What if we finally... and it doesn't work out? Then we've got to either pretend or admit that you jumped the gun. I really wish you hadn't done that.”

 

“I know you're anxious, but that's not going to happen.”

 

“How do you know?” I asked.

 

“Because that's a damn silly reason to give up what you love. You could tell me I'm never going to touch you again and all I'll get is a kiss on the cheek on Sunday mornings and I'd be content.”

 

“You're lying. How could that be enough for you?”

 

“It would be more than I've gotten so far, except for our lovely encounters in the house. If I could fall asleep to the sound of your voice and wake up to hear you clacking away at your keyboard, I would be a very happy man.”

 

“That's not what would happen at all. Your love, as you claim, would end pretty fast.”

 

“How do you know it will end?” He was curling my hair around his fingers, twisting it and then letting it drop.

 

“It always ends. The thrill of the chase will be over and you'll find a new challenge.”

 

“How can you think this is just some conquest goal I've set for myself? Didn't I convince you in Charlotte with how infatuated I am?”

 

“Why was the diamond real?”

 

Tom laughed anxiously. “About that... I had planned at the end of the day to make the offer that if you liked the life we had pretended to live, then you could keep the ring and we'd try it for ourselves, but you rushed out the door leaving me alone in the dark. You can't imagine the hell I caught from the wardrobe manager when I tried to get it back. Embarrassing is too kind a word.”

 

He was pulling serious puppy dog eyes, but I wasn't finding a grown man having the common sense of a purebred all that endearing. “You act like you can only speak to me in person. We have cell phones, texts, email, webcams. If it's important, there will be a way to tell me, I swear. Not everything has to be witnessed to be true, so forgive me when I think it's part of an act. Why are you jumping ahead to marriage? We haven't even been on a date.”

 

“Josie, look at me. I love you. When I know what I want, I go for it and I don't do anything halfway. Don't try to laugh it off and don't try to bolt. You're not a name to cross off a list and forget.” He sighed when I didn't react. “We're here. Can we go inside and talk more later?”

 

“Not yet. The video. What's in it?”

 

His face went pale. “No, now is not the time for the video. I can explain it and you'll see it's nothing but we shouldn't be late. We'll watch it later, together in a nice warm bed and you'll agree it's a tempest in a teapot.”

 

I pulled up the link from my phone. “No, I'm going to see the nothing now and you're going to explain the nothingness of it now. Then we'll go in.”

 

Tom reached out for the phone. “Oh God, please don't.”

 

I stepped away. The file was still loading so I decided to read the comments posted underneath.

 

_Oh, my heart is broken._   
_What a lucky woman._   
_I'd do that too if I was alone with him._   
_Nooooo!!!!!!_   
_Better her than that writer woman. I can't believe he's so nice to her._   
_Maybe there's hope for me if Tom likes redheads._   
_She's too young. There's no way he's into her for her mind._   
_Wow, so he's playing both of them? He's got more game then I thought._   
_Haha, you know Josie thought she had him. Loser._   
_Good for him, he deserves to be happy._   
_I'm just going to be weeping in the corner covered in chocolate wrappers._

 

The sound began to play and I scrolled back up to the video. According to the time stamp, it was from after last night's wrap party he had told me had been uneventful and nothing worth mentioning. Tom emerged from a car with his tight shirt missing a few buttons and lipstick smeared from the edge of his mouth nearly to his ear- a new wave streak of red across his cheekbone. He ducked his head and went straight for the door. Behind him emerged Ember, the girl playing Genevieve in the film, who made a big show of pulling down her skirt and sliding the straps of her dress back onto her shoulders. She said she had nothing to say to the flashing lights and shouting voices, but you could practically see the canary feathers in her teeth she grinned so widely.

 

I looked up at Tom who was standing dead still, biting his lip. The night before he had called me as soon as he was in bed, or so he claimed. He had whispered eloquent stanzas of longing and hopeful promises over the line into my ear, his voice the only thing with me in the dark. But had he been alone? Had he said all of that with her asleep nearby, or had she been awake and they shared a laugh as soon as he hung up?

 

“Nothing?”

 

He tried to smile but his lips must have turned to concrete. They barely moved. “Yes, love, it was nothing. She gave me a thank-you kiss right before I opened the door, that's all.”

 

“I told you your shirts were too tight.”

 

“That happened at the party. I caught it on the corner of the bar when I turned too quickly.”

 

“Why was she so disheveled? Why was she even in your car?”

 

“We were staying at the same hotel, she asked if she could tag along and there was no reason for me to say no. I don't know why she did what she did. I never touched her, Josie. I never even turned around to look at her once I left the car. I saw the cameras and I just wanted to get inside and wind down and talk to you. All I could think of was seeing you this morning and our next few days together.”

 

“I want to believe you, I really do, but is this why you made such a big deal out of us in the interview? You knew this was out and you wanted to counter it? Our film was never going to be sold on its own merits, was it?”

 

“Dearest, no. I talked about us because that's what's important to me right now. The video is embarrassing and it's come out at the exact wrong time, but it is nothing and nothing will come of it. People will forget soon enough.” He began to hop from foot to foot. “My ass is frozen. Can we please go inside? Just let me look at you without feeling like my ears are going to fall off. We can talk about everything. Please?”

 

“You go on ahead. I need a few minutes.”

 

The cold hadn't touched me. That video certainly would explain his mad rush to let our secret spill. Was his explanation true? I had to go past my immediate reaction of an anchor dropping in my chest. He'd have to be a pretty steel-sacked bastard to step out on me in public the night before our reunion. Did that match at all with the Tom I knew? It didn't, but did I trust my own perception? I had misjudged so many other times. Was this the right time to take another step forward, much less the sprint toward eternity he was suggesting?

 

Tom was standing up from the makeup chair when I walked into the warehouse space, a large cavernous emptiness within the cramped city. I saw him in the mirror, smiling, laughing, being his usual charming bastard self. When our eyes met the smile dropped from his face, mimicking my own.

 

“Josie.”

 

“Tom,” I answered.

 

I could feel the disappointment of everyone in the room who had been sold on our undeniable chemistry and natural ease with each other. Their effortless workday had just fallen in flames.

 

“I had been meaning to ask you. How did you come up with this concept?”

 

The photos were going to portray me as a starlet and Tom as my loyal bodyguard. I had been told what lines the magazine wanted featured, and I knew it had to be killing the designer to have his clothes put on my short and curved body- no easy shipment of samples over for this one, so I tried to go as glamorous as possible.

 

“You're always trying to protect me, but Armani wasn't featuring sheepdog costumes this season, so I had to adjust it a little. Of course this was planned out months ago, so it might not be as relevant now.”

 

“You don't think I want to protect you anymore?”

 

“I think I might need someone to protect me from you. There are still unanswered questions. How did the photo of us get out? Why that one?”

 

He started to lift his hands to his hair, but then remembered it had been styled for the camera and dropped them again. “I don't know. I spent half the party trying to find out.”

 

“Everyone knows what you did the other half.” That wasn't fair, but I said it anyway.

 

Tom sighed and his eyes hardened. “You mean where I told everyone I wished you were there to share in the experience? That's what they'll all tell you. If you had cared enough to arrive yesterday we wouldn't have these problems.”

 

I could see each person in the room angled to have at least one ear on our conversation. “It's my fault I wasn't there to keep the naughty child off of you? Poor little precious Tom, attracting women like flies to sh... sherbet.”

 

“So I'm still your precious, or is that just a habit by now?"

 

The photographer approached. “There you are, Tom darling. Perfect as always, why don't you go get dressed for the first shot? Josie, darling, how are you? I know you don't like photos, but this will be fun, I swear. If you want to stay in this business, or with Tom, you're going to have to get used to it sooner or later.”

 

I felt like a child being given a pep talk for a picture with Santa rather than art shots for a fashion magazine. I smiled in response and allowed myself to be led to the makeup station. Before long, I was in a sequined gown before a row of false paparazzi being held back by Tom's wingspan.

 

“Deja vu?” I asked him, still stung that he blamed me for what happened. “This looks a lot like last night.”

 

“Except for the part where you weren't there. What was so bloody important that you couldn't come? It was for you, too. Even if it wasn't, you should have wanted to support me.”

 

I had made an excuse, I couldn't even remember what now, because I hadn't wanted to be in the way of Tom's triumph. It hadn't even occurred to me that he would want to share it.

 

The model they paired me with for the next scene was a beauty- strong and dark and wide with muscles, not so tall that I had to strain a tendon in my neck to stare adoringly at him: the anti-Tom.

 

“I walked the runway in Milan next to that dress,” this breathtaking specimen said as he wrapped an arm around my waist. “I must say it looks a lot different with a pair of tits in it like yours.”

 

I had to laugh. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

 

“What do you think?” he asked and turned his head so I could read his expression.

 

“Oh, Tom, darling. Just like that. Keep the daggers in your eyes. I love it.”

 

For the last setup, we were seated in the back of a car, as far apart as we could be. He wouldn't even look at me and he hadn't spoken for hours. I didn't like this new Tom. I hoped we were acting. He was right, he had asked me to come to town early for the wrap party and I had rejected it outright, thinking only of my own discomfort. The anger that I had felt over his outpouring to the reporter faded away and it would be easy enough to ask anyone at the party about Ember. We had enough to worry about without adding in other people stirring up drama.

 

“Ok, now you're alone, darlings. This is the time to let your true feelings show.”

 

We were far from alone, cameras were watching our every move. This would be our future. I looked over at him on his side of the car, staring out the window. Our hands were in the space between, outstretched but not touching. With my own eyes turned away, I reached out and traced a heart on that overpriced suit right above his knee with one finger and then rested my hand slightly higher up on his thigh. The muscles beneath my hand tensed.

 

“Perfect!” called out the photographer. “Keep going!”

 

Before he could finish speaking, Tom had turned and grasped my hip and laid a kiss at my collarbone. My eyes closed and I let out my breath.

 

“Go higher, right by her ear, darling.”

 

_Well, if you insist_. Tom followed direction well. I tried to keep the smile off my face but I was no trained actor. Then I realized if we couldn't fix us, this might be the last time he kissed me and I could feel everything in myself wilt.

 

“Perfect! Hold that!”

 

Figured- someone else who knew pain made the best art.

 

“We've got it. That's a wrap.”

 

The room burst into noise as lights were disassembled and people began to break down the set. Tom hadn't moved. I could feel his breath traveling down my neck.

 

“Come on now, precious, we're done.”

 

He pushed himself away to look into my eyes. My gaze fell onto his lips. So perfect.

 

“Are we done, you and I?” he asked.

 

“I don't want to be.”

 

“Then tell me what I'm doing wrong. Isn't it supposed to be easy once you've found the right one? Shouldn't all the pieces fall into place?”

 

“You're asking the wrong person. Well, not the wrong person, I want to be the right person. I feel like I'm the right person, but it does seem like we're trying to build something without an instruction sheet and we're missing a screw.”

 

His wicked smile appeared. “That's what I've been trying to tell you.” His hand at my hip moved to reach for my hand. “You write so much about unrequited love and its pain, but you let me suffer from it.”

 

“Your love isn't unrequited, it's just... unconsummated.”

 

“We still have these few days together. You decide how we use them. We can figure it all out from there.”

 

We had been motionless too long. I knew the wardrobe people would want their clothing back and the set folks would want to do something with the car. The thought of a world where we were back on separate paths made me feel sick, but I was guaranteeing that future if I didn't claim him for myself.

 

“We should stick to our plan. Let's get out of these rags and see how our pieces fit once and for all.”

 

“Now? What room are you in?” He was trying to hold back his excitement, but that wasn't his nature. It was beginning to deepen the creases around his eyes and his leg had started to bounce.

 

“I haven't even checked in yet, remember? My bags are still in the corner.”

 

“Come to mine,” he spoke in a low voice.

 

“No, I need my space. I'll text you when I know it.”

 

“I can be there in an hour. I'm going to finish up a few things first, then I will be right at your door.” He laid a kiss on my cheek and bounded away to shake hands with everyone.

 

I left the studio in a fog. I knew this had been the plan all along but now the reality was pressing down. Was there anything else I needed to do? I had re-done my makeup in the chair. I was already wearing nice underwear since I was going to be changing in front of strangers. My hair wasn't going to get any better. I checked in, found my room, dropped my bags in the closet, and headed back out again to pace by the door. Excitement and dread fought for prominence.

 

My phone began to ring. What was modern etiquette regarding seduction and technology? Shut it down completely? Keep it on in the other room? Turn off the ringer? Only check texts if things are going too slow?

 

“Josie dearest, what number was your room again?”

 

“1531.”

 

“Since I've just awoken an otherwise charming Austrian man by knocking on that door, could you please tell me which hotel?”

 

“The Plaza.”

 

“There's our problem. Give me another twenty minutes?”

 

“Of course.”

 

The pacing got old quick. I pulled my dress over my head and sat on the edge of the bed in the barest of nothing, checking the clock like I was waiting for a doctor's appointment. This was not the most erotic state of mind. I put the dress back on and fiddled with the curtains, trying to measure the most flattering amount of fading sunlight to let in. I looked over the room service menu, I brushed my teeth twice. It was stupid to be this anxious. We had spent time in dozens of hotel rooms together but never was I more aware of the door to the bedroom.

 

At last there was a knock. I barely had the handle in my hand before he strode in and pulled me close.

 

“Did you know they have gold-plated faucets in the bathroom?” I asked, feeling I should say something but not sure what.

 

“Fascinating,” he replied, dropping his lips down to my neck. His hands darted everywhere, unsure which previously uncharted territory he should conquer first.

 

Tom had changed into a sweater and jeans. He looked as if he had just come back from errands and was not on an assignation. The leather bag that had been across his shoulder made a clanking sound as he set it to the floor.

 

“What did you bring?”

 

“Oh, just some things for later.”

 

“Handcuffs and blindfolds?” I asked with a raise of an eyebrow.

 

“Wine and cheese and strawberries,” he answered. “I figured since you're leery about our relationship being public, you wouldn't want to order room service and I don't plan on letting you leave this room any time soon.”

 

“Better options.”

 

“But less exciting than yours. Maybe I should have asked you first.”

 

“Would have been a good idea. I'm allergic to strawberries.” And I didn't like brie, which I could see now in the bag, and I never drank wine. I was sure it was his standard toolkit. How European of him.

 

“I'm so sorry,” he said. “I should have bought cherries instead. I know you like those.” His smile made me smile. “I can still remember the taste of them on your tongue.”

 

“My heart races every time I see the jar in the refrigerator. I had to hide it when people came over. I didn't want anyone else to touch it.”

 

“Is there any left?”

 

“Maybe one more mouthful,” I answered. “For some reason I always want some after you call. I think I've developed a Pavlovian response.”

 

“We'll have to go back and find some more. Or I can just keep kissing you in person.”

 

His mouth dipped down and his tongue was sweet all on its own. I grasped the hem of his sweater to pull it over his head. It was heavy and strangely alive-feeling, the heat from his body still trapped inside. I successfully tossed it onto a nearby chair.

 

“Your turn,” he said, reaching for the belt tied across the front of my dress. “It was much too dark in that closet. I want to see what you've kept hidden.”

 

“Are you going to talk this whole time?” I asked.

 

“It all depends. I do know some very lovely poetry you might like.”

 

“I've heard it. Every woman in the world has heard it. Do you have anything just for me?”

 

His hands led mine to the button on his jeans. “Oh, I might have something tucked away.”

 

I turned and walked toward the bedroom door. Before I could take two steps, he was right up against me. A hand pushed my hair away to kiss the back of my neck.

 

“Slow down, white rabbit. We have time.”

 

I opened the door slightly and slipped in before closing it behind me. What are you doing? This is what you want. This is what so many women want. Three feet away is the fantasy of millions.

 

_This is what you want, right?_

 

Of course it is. I lifted my dress off and left it on the floor. Everything else in the tableau was set. I ran through a few pin-up poses, trying to see which angle of my hips and turn of my head might work the best.

 

“Have I done something wrong again?” asked Tom's muffled voice. “You need to tell me when I do.”

 

“Nothing's wrong. Come on in.”

 

I set a smile over my nerves as the handle turned and the door opened.

 

“Did you buy this for today?” Tom asked as his hands slid along the straps of my purple lace bra then the waistband of the panties.

 

“This old thing? What makes you think that?”

 

“I've always had the strong feeling that you don't own lingerie that matches.”

 

“Always? Just how long have you been thinking about my lingerie?”

 

“How long have I known you again?” he asked with a smile.

 

“So you like it?”

 

“I like it so much I can't stand to have it on you much longer.”

 

I sat myself on the edge of the bed. “Now, your turn again.”

 

“I have one request,” he said, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. “Don't say it. I can see it behind your eyes, begging to come out, but don't. Now is not the time for humor.”

 

I was pretty sure I knew what was queued up in my head and I had no idea what he could be talking about. “Say what?”

 

“You know you want to say what you did back in Berlin, at the gala, when you first took control of me.”

 

Now I remembered. “It never occurred to me. I didn't really think you could disappoint me then and I'm certain you couldn't now. I'm the one who has to worry.”

 

“Worry about what?”

 

“Very well, we will draw the curtain and show you the picture.” I reached out and switched on the light to erase the flattering shadows. “This is me, that's all there is. Nothing left to hide and mask. Surely I am at the lesser end of what you're used to seeing in your bed.”

 

He knelt down before me, all hard muscle and smooth speckled skin. He never had to worry about the dropped smiles when all the items meant to enhance and lift and camouflage were on the floor.

 

“Now you're going to stop that right now. I do not believe in telling war stories. The only two people here right now are me and you and those are the only two that will ever matter.” His hands moved up from my knees to my hips. “I can't see anything wrong with you except your unnecessary timidity.”

 

“That's a pretty bold statement from a man eye-level with my stretch marks.” Oh, how I hated them- a dozen faded but wide gouges in my flesh reaching inches above my navel, shining pink in the lampshaded glow.

 

“I didn't even notice.”

 

“You don't think it looks like I've been raked across by an angry dragon's claw? I've never been able to wear a bikini in my life.”

 

“That's just not going to be acceptable. I would very much like to see you in one. Back in Traverse City, before you we lost a day, I had hoped you would go to the beach with me. That's a pleasant thought to have on a cold day like this- the sun and the water and heat, you wearing no more than this out in public. All eyes on you, but your smile only for me.”

 

“There is no universe, no dimension, where people would be looking at me as long as you're around except to think, _Does she have a terminal disease and he's performing charity?”_

 

Tom sighed and turned his eyes on mine. “Has being negative and pessimistic ever kept you from being hurt or has it kept you from being happy?”

 

“I try to keep the extreme emotions for my characters. That way I can maintain my even keel, whatever that means. I think it means I'd be better off as a boat.”

 

“You shouldn't be afraid to express yourself. You need to embrace all of life, even with its failures and disappointments. Shutting yourself away is no way to live.”

 

“I'm not shut away, I am out and doing new things nearly every day now. I just prefer to keep myself for those who would appreciate me. I consider it less of a hermit cave and more of a wine cellar.”

 

He leaned in with enough force to push my back flat against the mattress. “I hope you know I appreciate you.”

 

“Oh precious, I know you do and now everyone knows you do. Why don't we put a little more action behind those words?”

 

Anticipation gave way to union. I focused on that over the voice in my head- This is where the countdown clock begins to tick towards the end. No one can be completely perfect. He will find you lacking and there will be nothing you can do.

 

Tom was a dancer, so I shouldn't have been surprised he knew how to find the perfect rhythm and keep it, but this was a flamenco- a solo performance based on the beats in his own head, not a close-embraced tango where the lead was meant to be followed. After a few attempts to match him, I simply fell back to watch the show.

 

His skin still held onto some of the summer's tan. It began to blend in with the ceiling, reflecting the golden lamplight and setting sun, his classic statuary lines fitting in well with the luxurious but sterile and impersonal decoration of the room. His nose was crinkled in a way I hadn't seen before. It captured my attention for the longest time, comparing it to the other creases and lines as his exertions played across his face. I would never fear aging if I could as gracefully as he. His eyes were open, but not focused. He could have been anywhere. When his mouth reached for mine, I met it. When his beard was rubbed roughly against my cheek and chin, I was grateful for something to feel besides the glimmering hope just out of reach on the edge of some of his thrusts that I could join in on the breathlessness before a shift or a hitch in the pattern would let it drop again below the horizon.

 

My hands could still enjoy the play of muscle beneath the skin of his shoulders, the long long thighs rocking from his knees, the texture of damp curls along the top of his neck. This had all been promised to me. In time, I could move this here and adjust that there until maybe one day I could wind him up and let him go and he would know where to touch and how to pace himself and I could be part of it all and not surprised, as I was when he stopped abruptly and groaned into my shoulder.

 

The force of his sigh ruffled my damp hair off my forehead as he settled himself heavily beside me. “I'm sorry. I tried to hold off, but the fulfillment of a long-held fantasy was a bit too much for me. As soon as I can catch my breath, I will make it up to you.”

 

Despite his words, he looked so contented, I couldn't say anything. There hadn't been anyone when he was younger and less devastating who had bothered to take the time to make course corrections? This is what I had been asked to pledge my life to? This continuous tease, this unceasing anticipation, pulled tight forever with no release?

 

“There's nothing to make up, precious. I'm just a quiet person. However, I hope you don't think just because this happened we're now going to live happily ever after, with two golden-curled children laughing in the back garden and a cat sunning itself on the windowsill.”

 

“Why not? Is that so dreadful a future?” he asked, pulling the blankets up and over us.

 

I thought it through for a moment. “You know what? That probably will happen- because the fates smile upon you and it would confound me for decades wondering how this became my life.”

 

“See, everyone wins,” he said with a yawn.

 

*-*-*


	10. Props

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of a bonus chapter. One Halloween, my little circle of writers decided to use a pic of Tom with a sword as a prompt. If you're reading this, you probably know which one. This was my contribution.

_Washington, D.C._

“I was down here on a field trip with the Girl Scouts once,” I said, making sure we had established that I was the local here. “We didn't get this far back though.”

“I don't think anyone should get this far back without a trail of breadcrumbs,” Tom answered. “When they gave me the tour, I was handed a map, but even then they told me I should let one of the wardrobe assistants lead the way.”

Still, he kept pressing on without hesitation, dragging me behind through the endless racks of costumes, each carefully encased in clear plastic and labeled with size and era and use in previous productions. Shelves of props lined the walls all the way to the ceiling, ladders at the ready to fetch down a skull or a crystal brandy set or any model of telephone.

“What if we do get lost? We're already not supposed to be down here.”

He stopped suddenly and used my continuing momentum to catch me tight in his arms. “We'll think of something.”

Floors above us, the Kennedy Center's Christmas party was still far from over. Certainly they'd realize their star attraction was missing before long, or worse- someone might notice the door to the prop department was unlocked and decide to remedy it. I didn't want Tom to get started on the wrong foot months before his production even began.

“Please let's go back now, Tom. It's too dark to see much of anything anyway.”

He bent his head so his lips brushed my ear. “You weren't afraid of shadowy spaces when you were chatting with that baseball player in the back of the restaurant earlier.”

It always surprised me how perfection could get jealous.“I had no control over how the restaurant lit itself. I didn't even choose it, remember. You were the one who made the reservation in one of your _we must experience everything_ mad rushes of activity.”

“You still didn't need to follow him back to his table, leaving me to mind your purse.”

I ran my fingers along the collar of his shirt. He had been the picture of a deferential gentleman at the time. “You were welcome to join us at the table, where his fiancee and the other members of the charity board were seated. I was only gone for a few minutes.”

“He was too familiar with you.” His hand slid down to the curve of my hip. “There was no need for him to lead you away like this.”

“We've known each other forever. It was nothing. You're just upset he didn't know who you were.”

“In a way,” Tom answered, leaning back to try and read my eyes in the dim secondary lighting from the scattered fixtures across the ceiling. “For someone you've _known forever_ , he didn't seem to know who I was in relation to you.”

I didn't like when he mocked my accent. “Why should he? It's not like we have sleepovers on Saturday nights and talk about our love lives over bowls of popcorn.”

“I'm not a boy you have a crush on, I've asked you to marry me.”

“I know, Tom. Trust me, there are days where I can't get past that thought to think of anything else, but since I haven't given you an answer yet, how am I supposed to title you- my almost fiance, my very likely future husband? This is Tom works for right now.”

“Then just say yes and make it all easier. We have the press release ready to go.”

If only I could. There had to be a time when he would stop asking and my chance would be gone, but such a large part of me was waiting for the payoff of the grand practical joke this had to be. I never had any luck before, it wasn't possible that the universe had been saving up for this.

“We need more time together. These few days have been good for us- a test-run of everyday life, and then we'll be in London for the holidays to try it over there. I haven't even met your family yet. You'll have your answer soon.”

He sighed and let his cheek rest on the top of my head. “I feel like you've set my life on pause and this... stagnation is something I have fought against as long as I can remember. I can't stand around and wait when there is so much to do and so little time.”

Guilt, there you are. Hadn't seen you tonight.

“You weren't without your retribution. You made sure I was right in the middle of the crowd when the director started talking about the haunted wing. I know your loving embrace then was to keep me from running away in terror.”

“And it still is.”

I knew I was imagining the chill I felt, but my legs tensed with the urge to bolt all the same. I should have known this was more than an opportunity for a private moment. “Tom. Please. You know, there was a lovely dessert table upstairs and you know if we wait too long, everything good will be gone and we'll be left with hard candy and fruitcake and stale gingerbread.”

“There's something I need to find first.”Without any other warning, he stepped back and disappeared behind a row of togas. I tried to follow but he was already out of sight and the click of his hard-soled shoes echoed through the room and made it difficult for me to track. I took off my own heels to focus only on the sounds I could hear from him, but then there was silence.

“Tom?”

No reply.

The costume racks were higher than my head and packed in close to make narrow aisles. I wound my way through the labyrinth, deeper to the center of the seemingly endless space. The dim glow would catch a sequin or rhinestone or gold thread every once in a while and make me start, but still no sign of Tom. The allure of a forbidden setting had lost its appeal. I stopped and began to retrace my route.

“I'm going back to the party,” I called out. “Find me when you want to go home.”

Nothing.

I was certain I had made a left turn at the bustles when I found myself facing a row of stylized Egyptian robes I hadn't seen before. If I could only get to a wall, I could follow it to the door. It surely had to be against building code to not have the exits clearly marked. I closed my eyes to concentrate my hearing once more, but all I got was the sound of my own breath. Where the hell was Tom? It was the first smile he'd given me all day when he asked if I'd follow him and I'd do much more than sneak through empty halls for that look. I had been hoping for a pull into a shallow corner, a hand up under my skirt, his lips on the back of my neck, but here we were, in the same space but miles apart, as usual.

“I found it.”

Tom stood just a few feet away, the white of his shirt reflecting the low light which also glinted over the wide blade held tight in his right hand.

“No,” I answered.

“Yes. It's this one, I know it.”

“It couldn't be.” I tried to keep my voice light. “That was a touring production. They would have had their own props.”

“Ken told me the whole story, which he heard directly from Derek. Theirs had been broken at the handle so they borrowed this one from the storage here before anyone could tell them about its history. Whenever Derek had it onstage, he would feel it leading the way, taking the stroke before he was ready to move. They tried to replace it after the first performance but it would appear on the prop table every day and he was fearful to go on without it, on the chance something worse might happen. We are a superstitious lot.”

His movements were bigger now, wide arcs and half-turns, as he recalled some Shakespearean battle choreography. I pushed myself into the plastic garment bags behind me.

“Why do they keep it?” I asked, but I knew the answer. So they could scare the hell out of people at the Christmas party with stories of the ghost in the stage right wings and the props that he was drawn to, including the one which supposedly killed him. “If it's a murder weapon, why don't the police have it?”

“It couldn't be proven.” The certainty in his voice was as sharp as the scimitar he was twisting back and forth.

“And it's just on a rack with all the other aluminum foils?” Look, I made a joke to lighten the mood. Smile, Tom, so we can leave.

Tom didn't notice. “No. I had to go searching, but I knew I'd find it.”

“Congratulations, precious. Now put it back before we're discovered.”

“It doesn't look like it could slice through a man's throat, does it?” He held out his left arm and set the edge of the blade down directly on the thin strip of skin at his wrist below the cuff. “When I was younger and in a frenzy to feel everything, sometimes I would hold a knife just like this, not hard enough to cut but just leave an impression. One slight change of angle, one drag across the flesh and I could cause my own blood to spring forth, but I never did. I wanted to see if I could resist the urge when it was so close and so easy.”

He towered over me and now besides his height I was very aware of his strength. He was all muscle, tensed and coiled like a snake who could strike at any moment. For the first time I felt fragile in comparison.

“Tom, you're frightening me.”

“Is it fear?” he asked. “Or is it just excitement, a rare rush of adrenaline? You can't have nearly enough. You live all day inside your head. You don't run, you don't chase.” He paused. “At least not with me.”

I was ready to run now, as long as he didn't chase. There was no way I could escape those long strides. This had to be improv, it had to. We had played through a dozen different personalities between us over these months, but even when I knelt before Loki as he demanded my complete subjugation, there had always been a twinkle in his eyes. Now they were flat and dull, a stormy moonless night at sea. I had to bring him back.

“O beware, my lord, of jealousy. It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on.” Shakespeare, don't fail me now.

A smile hung on his lips for a moment before it fell. He stepped closer, the handle of the scimitar still firmly in his grip at his side.

“You are the green-eyed siren, Josie, luring me in, fully planning on dashing me against the rocks. How can I hear any other call but yours? How can I steady myself when I am always reaching out for you?”

Tom offered me his hand and I took it, not sure what else to do. I was led backward through the dark, our shoulders brushing against the cold cocoons of characters long gone. We emerged from the maze to a wall of props and furniture. I turned my head and I could see the white metal railing leading up to the exit, its emergency light beckoning.

Would anyone be watching the security cameras? There had to be cameras. Decades of items were stored down here, but were they really valuable? The promise of catching a stolen moment between two lovers would be more of a draw, but could they react in time if something were to go wrong?

I was let go before five thrones of varying geographical and historical origin lined up underneath shelves high above making an even darker alcove, cutting off the light from the fixtures in the ceiling. We were in complete shadow. Even if someone were to open the door and look out across the vast room, we wouldn't be seen. He took off his suit jacket and let it drop, flexing his shoulders and again cutting the air with the scimitar.

This was my Tom, he couldn't hurt me. He wouldn't hurt me. I wondered how many times that was the last words of someone trusting and in love. He hadn't relaxed his grip on the blade once. Now as he kept his eyes on me, it hung at his hip, arm not all the way slack, still tension there at the ready.

“Tell me more of the story, Tom. What else did Derek say to Ken about it?” I couldn't keep this up for a thousand more nights, but I hoped it would be good for another few minutes as I figured out the next move. “Why was the man murdered?”

“Love. Isn't it always love? He was a threat, a rival, and he had to go.”

“And what happened to his killer? He wasn't caught?”

“He ran off with the woman and they were never seen again, vanishing into the night with no justice done.”

“How did it end up here?”

“Such things either become priceless or worthless.” Tom brought it closer to his face for one more appraisal. “Some silly buyer thought it was pretty and bought it cheap.”

“Even after all the strange things, they just leave it down here where just anyone can pick it up? That doesn't make sense to me.”

“It's a tool, it needs to be used. It needs to cut, it needs to have a purpose. It would do no good in a display or melted down to nothing.”

“Ken told you all of this?” I was picturing a craic session over glasses of whiskey and hoping it was true.

“He didn't need to.”

“That's really fascinating, Tom. Too bad we can't tell anyone we found it since we're not supposed to be down here. Why don't you arrange for us to have another tour one day and we can see it in the proper channels, under the lights and all? I'm sure they wouldn't mind. We could go ask right now. No one would ever know.”

“No one needs to know now.” Tom came closer and brought the blade toward me. I kept still as he rested its tip at my neck, right below the hollow of my throat.

“It is a lovely piece of craftsmanship,” I said, feeling the point follow with me as I spoke. “It reminds me a little of Loki's scepter in The Avengers. Are.. are you trying to bend me to your will? Because I'm already there.”

“Are you?” He drew the blade down and I felt a sting as the metal bit my skin. It and the silk of my dress gave no resistance. “I can't tell. I can't hold back when it comes to you, but you're always dancing away, dangling everything just out my grasp. _Maybe later, Tom. Not now, Tom. Can't we just wait, Tom?_ Nothing is ever definite. Nothing can ever be done now or even decided now. All I want and all I need is always in this amorphous future that we never seem to reach.”

My dress, which was hollyberry red under the party lights was now muted as a cooling ember. Tom continued the scimitar's track down until the hem split under the razor edge and each side now fell free. An easy exit was now near impossible.

“I am yours, Tom.”

“I want you to tell everyone that.”

“I will.”

“When?”

“As soon as we leave here.”

He pulled me in close and the bright drops of blood that had welled up in half a dozen places from my collar to the edge of my ribcage now transferred to his crisp white shirt. Tom was a man who blanched when I hit my knee on a table's edge and now he had drawn blood without a change of expression. I was hoping for the strong taste of liquor to accompany his mouth on mine to help explain away this change, but there was none. I was less and less certain this was Tom, but I had no better answer.

“Mine,” he said, breathing hard against my ear.

“No one else's,” I answered. “Never again.”

The antique sword clattered on the concrete floor. Cold shirt studs rubbed against my broken skin and to my shame, as soon as his hands did not reach out to wrap around my neck but instead pinned me down onto the seat of an emperor's throne, I felt my fear shift to exhilaration. I had resigned myself to chaste English kisses and caresses under the perfect amount of candlelight, sweet and romantic and loving, but dull as old paint. I couldn't think of a time he had been this breathless, this determined, this focused on me. Was that assurance all he needed? His eyes, his strange cold eyes, never left mine. I bent my head forward and bit into his shoulder through the fine gauge cotton, too impatient to wait until I had all the buttons undone to make my own mark. Whatever had come to the surface in him was right. Why wait? Why delay happiness to a day that might never arrive?

"Say it again," he pleaded.

"Yours. Always. For the rest of my life." No matter how small of increments that may be measured in.

There was his smile, warm and familiar.

The lights flooded on and a voice echoed against the walls. "Anyone in here?"

Tom froze though his eyebrows raised. “Should we say something?” he whispered.

"They might lock us in," I answered and pushed him forward. Tom cleared his throat, made himself presentable, and stepped into the open space.

"Are you hurt, sir?"

Tom looked down at his shirt and then back up sharply. "Oh, no, I'm fine. We'll be right over, just as soon..."

The voice laughed. "I understand. We get at least one pair down here every year. An unlocked door is hard to resist. Take your time."

He picked his jacket off the floor and held it out to me. I had managed to close the wreckage of my dress back together a little. Once I buttoned up his jacket we could find our way out to the taxi stand without too much attention. 

An angry line of raised flesh still peeked through between the lapels and Tom traced it with a finger, mouth open, speechless for once.

“Did I do this?” he asked at last.

“Yes, precious. Go put the sword back and let's go home."

Tom's head turned to scan the immediate space, then looked at me with clear curious eyes. 

"What sword?"

 

*-*-*


End file.
